maybe it was the way
her hair was in her eyes
as she sat there

criss cross legs
applesauce and nonsense
and she’s not even pretty

cheap motel room
Motel 8 but
seven eight (ate?) nine

white t-shirt
ketchup stains or
maybe it’s blood and

kaleidoscope eyes
like that one Beatles’ song
except hers are brown

waiting for a miracle
guardian angel
she sits there

criss cross legs
applesauce and nonsense
and she’s not even pretty