Black Betty

Actual person I knew growing up (I've changed her name).

Old black Betty.

Hunched over and sweaty.

All her fears overblown and petty.

Living in a tilted shack.

Very sweet.

Walking all day, up and down the street.

Strangely eyeballing everyone she would meet.

Cute.

Afoot with one shoe and one boot.

Rumored to have a stash of hidden loot.

Adorned in a beat-up, old house coat.

Always clearing her wrinkled throat.

Who'd have thought that she'd one day be the subject of what I wrote?

Always up before dawn.

No one's pawn.

Carting home every piece of junk she could lay her hands on.

I greeted her with a, "Howdy-do, Betty."

From atop life's weighted jetty.

Right before Heaven lifted her up in a parsimonious parade of confetti ...

Author's Note

"It would surpass the powers of a well man nowadays to take up his bed and walk, and I should certainly advise a sick one to lay down his bed and run." - Thoreau