Don’t you glare

I don’t know my gender
So I am a  pretender
I’m dressing in a modest kind of way
I wear some cotton trousers
A red skirt and three blouses
And I wore a tweed man’s overcoat today
Since I’ve been getting  lonesome
I invented a companion
Half of me is male,I say,I say.
He writes all  the sonnets
And says he knows  who dunnit.
And I write villanelles with love and care.
When someone seems enchanted
I feel  a dilettante
For I dress  quite like a boy and get half fare
And then they see my  tunics
Embroidered and perfumed
They feel confused and have a new excuse to stare,
Thank God for the Muslims
I imitate their costumes
I am happy to modest, don’t  you glare.