She will “borrow” all my things—they’re gone.
She’s curious, my wife—
sometimes Kendra becomes Ken
and then lives out a second life.

She heads down to the bar
without a trace of sashay.
She’s shed her gladrags for he-dom;
it’s getting a bit outré.

Though not prowed, it’s she who’s wearing men’s duds
that really belong on me.
You can bet she’s wearing a man’s tie. . .
missing missus millinery.

All her gladrags handed down to Sue. . .
gave her best vestments away.
There’s no doubt, it’s getting out of hand. . .
cross-dress in dude array.

Used to have a mini’s wardrobe—
now it’s suits in pieces three.
Former raiment was so sexy:
flowing were her fleeces free.

A she-boy now who’s suitin’
up in this “sir” charade.
What’s a guy to do when his gal learns the art
of the haberdasher’s trade?

In a crowd she stands out wearin’ men’s duds
that really belong on me.
She’s divested me of my best ties
planned with haberdashery.

All her gladrags are handed down to
Sue; a few have gone to May.
There’s no doubt: reinvention as man. . .
cross-dress in dude array.