Two women: both dykes. One primped up pretty / giving it the bleached blonde / lipsticked, feather bowered girlie. The other is a manshe / a himher / the butch. Nobody stares at us / because there is nothing to see / we are looking like them / camouflaged Me and Bee / my Bee / broad in the coat / gorgeous tall / working class enough / to be proper tough and we need to be/ it is 1987 when every single day / one of us dies from AIDS. We will die but the government will do nothing / because we die from ignorance / literally. Anarchy in the UK is getting soft / it’s going off the boiling stage / leaving us at the mercy of tepid ballads / that focus our eyes on the guise of / ‘I just wanna to dance with somebody’ or fill our pockets with ‘loads a money.’
Except we are three million unemployed / nothing to do but watch Jim’ll Fix It on telly / to learn about / love.
Or Blankety Blank to hear jokes about / the blacks and the poofters / lesbians though they say we are alone when we are together / just we two making do / waiting for a real man to give us a proper seeing to.
Seriously. If we had collected a ‘naff tax’ on just that / we could have bought us an island by now / to escape to.
Bee and I are glad we don’t look gay / we are homophobia- free happy this way / passing for strait we become more and more / blatantly sexual so, strange as it sounds Debenhams becomes the site of our DIY porno
Leaving our clothes in the changing rooms / like Mr. Benn we wander about for hours / dressed like old ladies in corsets, hats, or wigs. Or we don dog collars and drop to all fours / playing puppy who’ll fetch / along shop corridors. Nobody bothers us Nobody is paid enough to care / if we go Rocky III in sportswear / or if Bee orders a milky coffee in a silk suit / from menswear first floor / and I lay across her lap / the best example of St. Trinian’s flirtery / until the women’s toilets call.
Or we lock ourselves into British library reading rooms / refusing when asked to come out quietly / until they fetch the key and we storm out imperious / shouting “where’s the loo?” But the truth is every gap between parked cars / is our personal pissoir. The scrawls on the dyke toilet walls tell us / ‘Lesbians are fucking everywhere,’ / so Bee and I try to go there / no graveyard or alley escapes our lewdliness / and we are not just fingers wet / we throat clenching some / whole hand fisting / pushing heads between legs / learning how only women come.
Suddenly we capture the camera’s stare / Love Bites, by Della Grace / is our pretend family album / we become a gang in there / sexing each other up / at fake weddings with whips / rattling our big fat bike chains and sticking out mucky rubber dicks. Then we were on TV / penetrating the nations living rooms where the country eat their tea / so now even Margaret Thatcher can see us / frigging in the rigging / there was fuck all else to do.
Pop stars like Madonna and Sinead O’Connor / want people to think they might be dykey / we have made the zeitgeist / they look more like us than we do / as lesbian chic floods the mainstream. Cheek more than chic though / prostituting us worse than pimps do / never giving us a single penny / of the money / do you?
I lie / they do pay in a way / you could say I lived off / the wages I was due / three pounds a day / all I had to do was queue / but you better not be late / because they could make you worse than wait. So unlike my foreign girl sisters / I didn’t have to do hand jobs / in the peep shows of Soho / still it was not enough to keep me out / of toe curling second hand shoes / and that shit don’t go.
At 21 / shoes don’t really bother anyone / we live in skin / ours and other animals’ / searched and found our sister kin / gathered together all other ones / that didn’t fit in. Together we made place into space / gave ourselves permission to play / any game any way / because finally we were in / Bee and me belonging / to a dyke sex family / we started spreading the love we felt / financially / socially / sexually / by showing each other our cunts / lips / clits / skin colour / we were pleasing ourselves and one another / by spreading our legs widely.
And / finding that we were
All of us the same
All of us different
All of us ‘proud of it’ Dyke Queens / resisting the shame regime
By coming fucking together.