"Miss America Guy"

A long, wrong rhyme to go –
Have I got the timber
To extend it to the final mile?
Well, perhaps I do, for in my pants
Is the wood that spoiled my chance
To maybe take th’ tiara “chappy style” …
Yes, having arrow ’stead of quiver
Was my final away-giver.
Had I gone one more step
--- that Breckinridge (see Vidal, Gore) step –
Instead of trying just to hide
What got me ruled disqualified
I might have pulled off what I tried
The day my “Sue trick” died.

For I’d been singin’
I’m the “Miss America Guy” --
Who’s gonna pull the wool over ev’ryone’s eye.
The real McCoy they will think me, ’cause I
Sing okay and have a really great thigh --
A combo I know judges will buy.

It was Title IX I was thinking of
And wondr’in’, when push came to shove,
“Do its dicta both ways go?
If to a “Nick” who played “Nicole”
The law applied, then I’d extol
Its merit and refute its ev’ry foe.”
But if only "her" it helped, not "him,"
I'd think its value mighty slim –
Indeed, it would abuse
My egalitarian views.
So I donned a dress and I tried to tuck
My stuff away in a truss – with luck
They’d see a “Charlotte” not a “Chuck”
The day my “Sue trick” died.

And I was singin’
I’m the “Miss America Guy” --
Who’s gonna pull the wool over ev’ryone’s eye.
The real McCoy they will think me, ’cause I
Sing okay and have a really great thigh --
A combo I know judges will buy.

Now the game was geared for femmes alone,
My likes could ne’er to crown and throne
Aspire in Jersey by the sea.
They’d rest no crown on a king (or queen,
And I think you know by that I mean --
No boy and surely no he-she!)
But that’s why I went to that town
And just why in swimsuit and gown
I took my runway turn --
Hoping breadth of mind they’d learn.
For, tho’ I knew emcee Bert Parks
Would scorn my bid as mere prankster’s lark
I thought myself a Jean D’Arc
The day my “Sue trick” died.

I was singin’
I’m the “Miss America Guy” --
Who’s gonna pull the wool over ev’ryone’s eye.
The real McCoy they will think me, ’cause I
Sing okay and have a really great thigh --
A combo I know judges will buy.

Svelter, svelter! That old tummy melter,
Hard workouts, helped me mix within the welter
Of pulchritude that for the contest massed.
Bewigged, I looked a twiggy bird,
And acting like one of the herd,
Self-obsessed, no mirror could walk past.
Now, I worried in the dressing room
When stripped to my Fruit-of-the-Loom
I’d be bared at a glance
But the narcissistic trance
That made ev’ry girl her own ideal
And gave their mirrors such appeal
Helped keep -- I thought -- my secret sealed
The day my “Sue trick” died.

I was singin’
I’m the “Miss America Guy” --
Who’s gonna pull the wool over ev’ryone’s eye.
The real McCoy they will think me, ’cause I
Sing okay and have a really great thigh --
A combo I know judges will buy.

Oh, I dared to see thus my tiara chase:
“No aberration, I’m the face
Of all kinds of cross-dressed men
(Like Hoover who’d call Boy George sick
But still himself dress like a chick
Each time that he felt the yen).
But as I sashayed ‘cross the stage
To make my mark on hist’ry’s page
My hopes into a chasm fell
When excitement made me start to swell
And because my Maillot was quite tight
A single bulge at too-low height
Told judges something wasn’t right
The day my “Sue trick” died.

They were singin’
Bye, bye, “Miss America Guy”
You didn’t pull the wool over anyone’s eye
‘cause the wood, old boy, you seemed to think we’d not spy
Became hard evidence, but nice try
We are sorry but your plan's gone awry.

And yet, I didn’t wholly lose --
The judges said “Now, chap, we choose
To give you recognition anyway –
Our “Miss Congealed” you’ll be, what’s more
‘Til you were caught you led the score
At least a booby prize just seems fair play.
And tho’ my reach shortfell my dream
I felt no loss of self-esteem –
“Tripped up by a root oaken”
I shrug it off, now, jokin’.
Tho’ win, nor place , nor show I boast
From that race on the Jersey coast
At least I made it to the post
The day my “Sue trick” died.

I started singin’
Bye, bye, “Miss America Guy”
You didn’t pull the wool over anyone’s eye
‘cause the wood, old boy, you seemed to think we’d not spy
Became hard evidence, but nice try
We’re so sorry that your plan went awry.

They finished singin’
Bye, bye, “Miss America Guy”
You didn’t pull the wool over anyone’s eye
‘cause the wood, old boy, you seemed to think we’d not spy
Became hard evidence, but nice try.