Betty Lonely

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