She waits, in shadowed shack of an abandoned home,
Lost to hope and strung out on drugs and alone.
Her suitcase is a stuffed plastic trash bag
That is used for a pillow or old rag.
The slit up the side is actually torn
But the brown still looks clean when worn.
Crazy Mary won’t you come out to play
Now that the night has replaced the day,
Do the little boy’s toys for small vial
Then be contently blissful for a while.
Swirl in street with a smile on your dirty face
Forget that you’re moved on from place to place.
Meet up with a gang of boys half your age
Satisfy their lust and ease their youthful rage
For pocket change and a ride on the horse
Drift through traffic unfettered by a course.
Lean on park cars spilling out insides
Then rush back into the dark where safety hides.
Crazy Mary won’t you come back soon
To swirl beneath the stars and the moon.

~~?~?~~