You'D Think A Good Woman Would Live To Be A Hundred And Two. - Poem by Brooklynn Barnett
they talk about it in the streets.
they tell me love,
well, love is just a midnight waltz
we all dance a time
but she was seventy-two
waiting to ride, red nails
and gray hair
she didn't see me staring
when she grabbed his hand
but it took me back to seventeen,
1951 and waiting to ride
brown hair and red lips,
she didn't see me smile
when she grabbed his hand.
i've got to tell those bastards in
the streets what a roller coaster line
can tell you.
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