Direction

 
Miss Marmalade

She said, “I think you’ll learn to love being my
Transvestite.” “My secretary,” “my“maid,”
“My cook,” “errand girl” and “seamstress,” unpaid.
“You asked for this,” she says calmly, “don’t lie.”
“Fines and tuition and rent you’ll supply;
Let Misses J and C’s brandings cascade:
Our ‘Wenis girl, eunuch,’ ‘Miss Marmalade,’
Bra’d and pantied in your nightie you’ll lie.”
Hark while her brushstokes of words gently steal
With girdled rules and pastel stains
The false sense of self we’re going to replace;
Then she lets up so I’m able to feel
The whispery tug and pull of the reins
Sewn from pink nylon, elastic and lace.