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
words less spoken 