Danielle
A story about a trans man getting a phone call from his feminist friend wherein she describes to him what happened the previous night.
Ring ring
on the telephone
It’s 5pm
I’m home alone
My girl Danielle
has rung me up
She’s hit the Patron
and she’s had enough
Already drunk
the night’s just begun
Got plenty of cash
to have some fun
Tells me the story
of her good time
Tells me how she paid
for Absolut and lime
She hooks up with her friends
at the corner store
they’re all out of drugs
and they want some more
They see a chicano
at the same spot
decide to kick his fucking ass
up and down the block
Danielle goes to the ladies’
and hikes up her babies
body spray and fresh make-up
getting ready for the fake-up
They go into the street
and play pretend
that they want to meet
for coquettish ends
In the backseat of an old hooptie
and they’d be dependent on a fee
In the dark of night
away from the eyes
of prying lights
The three girls would then strip him
of his money, they would relieve him
and they would leave him
without his wallet, without his clothes
The night before, he was all alone
They took his car, they took his shoes
Nothing but to sing the blues
Out the window
he’d see her friends
their brown faces painted pale
They’d shout into his busted face
“Boy, I ain’t for sale.”
