THE ALPHA-BUTCH WING FORWARD

                                          THE ALPHA-BUTCH WING FORWARD

                                                     

                                                              By Tom Leonard

                                                 A  poem for trans rugby players

                                                               Dedicated to Dara

                                                                    

                                                                      

                    The fat-cat owner peered 

                    At the back of the Reds' pack, and leered.

                    Past the flush of delectable youth,

                    Grizzly and shaped like an ox,

                    Dara cuddled into handsome Gerty,

                    His sleek-limbed number eight,

                   Flexed his biceps femoris,

                    and drove his hard-nosed shoulder

                   Into sweaty Emily's feminine right thigh.

  

                  When the ball came back to the Chiefs,

                  Dara seized upon Gerty's slick pass,

                  And ran at pace into open space,

                 As the girls in the stand fainted with pleasure

                 Beyond all measure.

                 That was the first of three tries that

                 Butch Dara scored against the gender fluid Strawberries

                 On that immortal day.

                 Then he joined in the fisticuffs

                 When they started the fray.

                                                          

                 All the more profit for me,

                Gloated the redneck fat-cat, straightening his twisted tail,

                But ladies' teams I will not pay fair.

                Rugby should be about all-exclusive masculinity

                And that's extra fun on the side for camp me.

                Afterwards in the shower,

                Dara had an announcement to make.

                "I've decided to express myself as a woman," she said,

                with a hopeful glance at the focus of her dreams.

               "Cos that's what I'll be from my time in the

                 womb, till I rot in my tomb.'

                 "So I'm really a she and never more he."

                 Gerty gave Dara a hug which made the fat-cat splutter.

                "That's great," said the cocky lock, flitting his uncontrollable eyes. 

                 "Cos now we can marry each other."

                "I always thought you were straight," exclaimed Dara, in ecstasy.

                "I accept wholeheartedly."

                "But how about me?" asked poor Emily.

                                            IF I WERE THE MARRYING KIND (VIDEO)