Betty jangles the tambourine.
The crowd, dotted-blue, records every silver fleck.
A 50-year-old man axe-kicks over them;
An adoring stadium, applause.
In the last turn of the wheel, we become — Rock Stars!
People who are loved even when sickly, when moody, when gravely ill.
Fame, like generosity, cannot be stolen, cannot be given away.
Betty's sleeping in her miniskirt.
The bag, left under the window, is gone.
Fishnet tights strung out in the alders,
Cottonwood underwear clung damp with dew.
Pajamas, pillows, socks, a poem, a pacifier — stolen!
The Walkman was worth $50, maybe, in 1980;
But who, but herself, would want a used, pink toothbrush now?
Betty's fearful dogs were just starting to come round;
Backslid by a door left ajar on a windy day.
Plastic bags and dried leaves flung into furred faces;
Leftover objects, turned terrifying.
Intruders are undeterred by pitchy barks — whirling!
Sounds made like toys: Now who plays with these?
Anyone's things for the taking, but no savings left for a starving child.
The crowd, dotted-blue, records every silver fleck.
A 50-year-old man axe-kicks over them;
An adoring stadium, applause.
In the last turn of the wheel, we become — Rock Stars!
People who are loved even when sickly, when moody, when gravely ill.
Fame, like generosity, cannot be stolen, cannot be given away.
Betty's sleeping in her miniskirt.
The bag, left under the window, is gone.
Fishnet tights strung out in the alders,
Cottonwood underwear clung damp with dew.
Pajamas, pillows, socks, a poem, a pacifier — stolen!
The Walkman was worth $50, maybe, in 1980;
But who, but herself, would want a used, pink toothbrush now?
Betty's fearful dogs were just starting to come round;
Backslid by a door left ajar on a windy day.
Plastic bags and dried leaves flung into furred faces;
Leftover objects, turned terrifying.
Intruders are undeterred by pitchy barks — whirling!
Sounds made like toys: Now who plays with these?
Anyone's things for the taking, but no savings left for a starving child.
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