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Betty Lonely lives in a duplex of stuccoon the north bank of a brackish river
Her ears omit the noise from a nearby air stripher mind floats beyond the snapper boats
Betty Lonely, her green eyes are roughly staring at a point
Through the sliding glass door her heart live over a drawbridge
Her brain is wet like a throw net

Betty Lonely, she will always think in Spanish
Though I know her Spanish black hairit will start to fade
She sunk her past out in the surrounding salt flat
Sher 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