Ching-chinga-ching-ching, ching-chinga-ching.
Tambourine pounds rhythmically to palm and thigh.
Cheerful, laughing emanations wafting through the air,
Almost as American as mom's apple pie.
Folksy music of a note simplistic in its view,
Dressed in
"Hardly" understanding or tolerant of any who oppose
What was once her noble sentiments and goals.
The drag queen bursts upon the scene
With fashion and with flare,
Traveling a vast uncharted sea.
Being what he has to be and
Answering the dare,
Taking up the challenges
To set his spirit free.
Tambourines pound chinga-ching,
And folk songs fill the air,
Waving flags and ragging "fags"
With righteous indignation.
Commentary saddened through
A lack of understanding.
Sad obituary to a closed imagination.
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