but her heroics was tragically 1945
she found herself a martini shy of sane
cats filled her half full cup in a tiny house
with a garden of overgrown raspberries,
creeping violets, dandelion and shotsy-****

one story, split level bungalow blues
smoking cigarettes into chains
with an occasional store stroll
blind doctor visit, and neighborly chat
atop damp earth with subterranean worms

they found her dead in her chair
sitting out her physical existence
stains of her last **** between her fingers
the ash length not having fallen
in respect to her final perfect moment ...

-cec