michelle

over breakfast, with
scrambled eggs and pork
link sausages, hash
browns and coffee
my friend linda tells
me that she has
a friend mike who wants
to be a girl. he'd like
to go by the name
michelle once the
transformation takes
place. he likes
to wear make up
and dresses and a nice
pair of heels and walk
around town like he's a
woman. she says that
he can pretty much
get away with it,
except for the adam's
apple which bobs
in his long abe lincoln
neck. i tell her it seems
strange, but i don't
care, this is america,
dammit. whatever melts
his or her butter is fine
with me, let him do what
he wants to do. but then
she says that he wants
to have an operation
to sort of rearrange
things down there, below
the equator, so to speak,
do some slicing
and dicing, make him
appear more woman like
and then get some
injections to create
a more bosomy mike,
i mean michelle.
what size, i ask her,
she shrugs, i don't know.
maybe 36 D's, who knows.
but he has a strong back
from being a carpenter,
so he could handle some
big ones. it's all very
complicated, she says.
very complicated.
i shake my head and take
a sip of coffee and move
around nervously in
my seat. could be a bad
idea i tell her, i mean
there's no turning back.
no epoxy is going to fix
that if he changes his
mind. i take a knife to
cut my pork link sausage
that lies helplessly in my
plate, but i can't do it.
it just doesn't seem right.