Old Bea
She’s just
“the crazy old lady”
Who lives
by herself
In the
oddest-looking hive
On Old Folks’
Drive.
A walking
skeletal frame,
As
skinny as its occupant,
Its
windows are wide eyes,
Dark
irises with curtain lashes.
Old Bea
has a successful son,
But he doesn’t
visit anymore.
She dotes
on two cats instead
Who purr
out love when fed.
Her garden
grows by the hour,
Tended by
healing hands.
Kids say
her beanstalk nigh
On reaches
the blue sky.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 5, 2020
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