Coming Out at Parties

by Linda Eisenstein

 

I'm coming out at parties more often these days.

 

I'm at the striptease stage:

a quick peek of exposed skin,

dropping a provocative pellet into conversations,

then scanning the stranger's gaze,

trying to read the ripple of lips,

the darting aversions of eyes,

running my geiger counter over faces,

listening for the clicks of intolerance

while trying to keep suspicion's scowl

from sharpening my own searchlight eyes,

so a person doesn't blink or flinch

not out of disapproval

but from the sudden intensity of high beams.

 

My friend Alan is more the flasher:

he wears a button on his suit

Gays Lesbians Bisexuals for Justice

as street theater,

watching his audience pitch and yaw

from its insistent silent alarm.

After a drink, he jumps booga booga

from the closet,

enjoying his newfound power

to make grown men leap

instead of waver,

his dance accompanied by the rattle

of knees knocking

behind other tight-shut doors.

 

Halloween's a free space, traditional Misrule:

one day a year the self-crowned queens

can parade their painted majesties

down suburban streets

without teeth punched down their bloody throats.

Its etiquette allows all to pretend

that today's swishing ballgowns, harnesses and heels

reveal no truths about their wearers.

People at parties want to nibble their cocktail franks unmolested,

costumes circulating in a safe admiring room,

magically uninhabited. Our insistent unmasking

is a noisy breach of the revels,

a bad smell around the buffet table.

 

But I'm tired of passing at parties.

I've become a deconstructionist of drag.

This year, our theme is

Come As We Are.

 

Copyright 1994 Linda Eisenstein

Plays & Musicals

Poetry & Fiction

Request Scripts

Reviews

Practical Playwriting

Links

What's New?

Email

HOME