hot the concrete is today

plastic black orchid near the front step

of the Gothic house but only in her head

3:30 a.m. writing session to her congressman

about her old folks home going to the dogs

when at breakfast her and her friends call the nurse speed racer

and lament not having money

and love least of all

Banksy art work on the wall across the street they see

the wind runs his fingers through her thinning hair

after stroke and misery took out her common sense

her doctor dresses in jeans and looks like young Lou Reed

she silently riots at the lies that she is told

and falls into depression dreaming of Marilyn Monroe

the shade of the magnolia tree pokes its trunk on through

and gives Elizabeth another day away from sudden death

always is she thankful in her widowed lonely heart

far away from Montana and the nest home of the Crow

green eggs and ham was never read to her

while empty beer bottles at the end of a long day

forced to collect with laughter at the inn

voluntary ignorance all to chase a dream

Hollywood sign was the destination but opened doors are never guaranteed