(Four For Seville)

here's four for a girl named Seville – a product
of the early november last past chills from boys who swore they were
born the minute they met her in vintage pasture celebration charm – the very same
whiskey still in their hands from the last girl life had restarted from
but she smiles and turns them down in overdone gymnasium
tones, because life's too fast and she has to let the stragglers go
she may be going nowhere but she's getting there now
and twenty-seven hour drives are easier without tag-along rodeo clowns
or love-struck novelty liars with simple sex-affection mouths

"never be a housewife," that's honestly what I said to her – as I stared in
the mirror at just another Seville, drunk on vodka/drunk on
pearls, making promises to the next card in my deck that
would show it's face to the world in all of it's regret

you're nice like corduroy as you skip in Midwest dress-up pantaloon celebration
"oh, the twister's coming, the twister came, let's celebrate with a Twister game!"
one eye rolls and one eye brightens and you love your hate in
fall down get up play again you beautiful girl circles

penicillin prescription bottles of life tint the world orange in clear morning light
like through rose colored glasses you can see only part of the world
except rose colored glasses never had all these thorns
they much prefer your lack of orange fruit sweet and
not taking blame for your dangling feet