Frisked by Frisker : A Transphobia Story

Dear Frisker,

So why the frisking, my darling frisker?
You size me up as I approach your citadel;
Your mind cannot withstand my masculine;
You frisk me as rough as I have ever experienced
How could you then question racist next door?

So why the frisking, my darling frisker?
Did you enjoy yourself while you were at it?
You were no better nor worse than the door hand
At G.A.Y that frisked me and then; “So sorry!”
I’m reminded, “birds of a feather flock together”.

So why the frisking, my darling frisker?
I didn’t see your tongue hanging out or anything.
You were not exactly feminine yourself; frisker?
Your eyes clouded over at the burn of intolerance
Your colleague’s bombastic banter unsettled you.

So why the frisking, my darling frisker?
Why me? Why on the day we sought to shine?
Black Pride was never supposed to be about death,
Was it? Think again, you could do better.
Or was it the influence of the master’s language?

Yours truly,

Frisked.