Lives in a duplex of stucco
On the north bank of a brackish river
Her ears omit the noise from a nearby airstrip
Her mind floats beyond the snapper boats
Betty lonely
Her green eyes are roughly staring
At a point through her sliding glass door
Her heart lives over a drawbridge
Her brain is wet like a thrownet
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
