Author’s note: Apologies to Was Not Was for tune and rhyme scheme. For those of you who have never heard the original, I suggest you imagine the words to this poem with either a bass funk beat or soft reggae percussion behind it, whichever your preference is.

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Pretty Tammy in her wheelchair waiting

Thought the Goddess would help guide her dating

Till she met the girl who cruelly broke her heart

(how could she?)

Now she sits alone and types one-handed

High and dry within her dreams she’s stranded

Pouring out her pain to no one in her art

(poor baby)

You could love her, but who knows where you’d start?

Ω

Woodwork squeaks and out come the freaks

Ω

Darling Boydwith his/her long blonde hair

Made girls wonder and made straight boys stare

Is it possible: one body, sexes fused?

(what’s in there?)

Oscar Wilde if you are in his head

And Bettie Page if you are in her bed

When you’ve got the best of both, who needs to choose?

(not me babe)

Isn’t gender really just a clever ruse?

Ω

Woodwork squeaks and out come the freaks

Ω

Nightshade Tracy grew her poems like fire

Words that dripped with passion and desire

At midnight heating up the cool computer screen

(my darling)

Little girls who just aren’t used to flirting

Revel deep in that delicious hurting

You remember what it’s like to be eighteen

(of course you do)

How can you love so someone you’ve never seen?

Ω

Woodwork squeaks and out come the freaks