Cross-dressing in the lighthouse
passes time.

The great, big tower, sticking out,
reminds us of the other way:

of femininity, the frilly,
the well scented.

Lighthouse Board supplies
don’t run to frocks;

so we must mend, make do
and be contented,

rotating just the two old dresses
once washed up

from the wreck
of the Santa Cruz.

One day we’ll feel the need
for newer fashions,
better looks,

drop the switch
and dim the light.

Pretty dresses:
find them floating in the morning.

 

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