|
Betty Lonely lives in a duplex of |
|
Stucco On the north bank of a brackish river |
|
Her ears omit noise from a nearby airstrip |
|
Her mind floats beyond the snapper boats |
|
Betty Lonely, her green eyes are roughly staring |
|
At a point through a sliding glass door |
|
Her heart lives over the drawbridge |
|
Her brain is wet like a throw net |
|
Betty Lonely, she will always think in |
|
Spanish Though |
|
I know her |
|
Spanish black hair, it will start to fade |
|
She sunk her past out in the surrounding salt flats |
|
Her maidenhood was lost beneath the |
|
Spanish moss |
|
Betty Lonely just talks to her grandbaby |
|
Everybody else, she blots them out |
|
But her words stick like a flounder gig |
|
Her dry laugh is like a gaff |
|
Betty Lonely lives in a duplex of |
|
Stucco On the north bank of a brackish river |
|
Her ears omit noise from a nearby airstrip |
