Father Paul, I write to you
Regarding brother Kyle.
He has not been remade anew
So likely you won’t smile:
His dog still fits his Gucci purse,
His favorite color’s aubergine,
His dream’s to be a male nurse,
And all his sentences end with “you know what I mean?”
His moisturizer smells like plum
And adds to his feng shui.
Of this I’m fairly certain:
We didn’t pray the gay away.
