Ode to a Dolly Parton Drag Queen

She lip-syncs “Hello God,” then “9 to 5.”

She struts. Or does she fly? Like the soul,

a rhinestone, she tells us, will never die.

She’s a blush-pink Bible. Patched together,

she’s a cosmic doll. Mirror of a mirror,

she winks, her face the only face. Anchors

of abundance, her breasts are the news—

more is more is more. A baptismal font,

a witch-walk down the last dirt road,

she’s hillbilly blood on a silk bandana. Marilyn

or Medusa? Caked lipstick on a flatbed truck.

She’s Styrofoam in a cowgirl case. Starlight

on a stage. She’s all eyeliner. She will not scare.

She’s the endless tease of her acrylic hair.