BETTY

Betty

It is always hot outside of Tucson.
I am sitting in the garage amongst
cardboard boxes filled with Christmas baubles,
a Xerox machine that hasn’t ever worked, and
chains for snow tires – you don’t need those in the Arizona desert.
I am fingering my turquoise and silver locket filled with
powdered peyote root.
My shiny red cowboy boots are pinching my toes;
I am thinking of the impending journey
and of my lover, Archie,
his loose slung pants slung low at the waist,
red and navy argyle socks.
A hedgehog appears before me;
he carries a legal pad and an expensive looking valise.
He takes out an old fashioned pocket-watch from his
pinstriped vest,
taps it officiously and says
“you must make haste for the Atlantic schooner.”
I think the auspicious rodent,
Tie my hair in a cool and practical ponytail
and start on my way.