Betty Lonely

(Vic Chesnutt )

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 her sliding glass doors
Her heart lives over the drawbridge
Her brain in wet like a throw net

Betty Lonely
She will always think in Spanish
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 grand baby
Everybody else, she blots them out
But her words stick like a flounder gig
Her dry laugh is like a gaff