She and she
said switch
so swish
he did, having misheard,
heard, he slid into a pair
of, slipped into an, open-
back heels and dress,
they, following suit,
she, his jacket, shirt,
she, his pants, wingtips,
tearing down the set
pieces, flipped the dinner
party, a three-ring
au pair a trois
staging the blank glint
mute smirk,
wine glasses
half raised, lowered
to half-staff,
flagging something
in the airs,
chi chi noses
wrinkled with
the stiff whiff
of a flat mistake
aquiline for Roman
knock-off
defanged the gang:
“It was all a gag,”
they cried, laughed.
Copyright © 2022 by Tyrone Williams. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 21, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.