Just Not Getting It

Just Not Getting It

A bottle of the neighbors 

pink prescribed pills,

rattle as she runs by.

Knowing;

her loyalty

only goes so far.

She has a bone to pick

with the world,

with the sun,

showing every unusual detail

of her face.

“Pleased to meet you!”

is not in her vocabulary.

But she’ll smile

to get what she wants.

And she doesn’t talk much,

just spits tobacco

in a Styrofoam cup.

When she has a cup

to spit in to.