This poem was found in the box of 1968 related items, don’t know why. Jim was always writing things like this to send me. This one is rather frivolous for a Jim Jordan poem but the date, 6/17/79, might indicate it was written for my birthday. That date was also about the time we started working on the play. It’s probably the last kind thing he said about me.
The lines in your face
seem to trace
Your teensy weensy hands
rake through the strands
of your hair. and lands!
What color is it now?
Black, blue, orange or—wow!
the latest shade, I will avow
is you, but so was the one before–
I guess at the core
you are nothing more
than your last rinse
a drag’s, a drag’s, a drag, and since
you wear girl’s clothes, hence,
your just one more transvestite
dour, dull, contrite
but, gosh, you’re out of sight!
And so, to end this verse to a T
I’ll just say, gee,
a poem should not mean, but B.