Crazy Lucy
She ain’t been right since her Auntie kicked her out on the street,
Baby in hand, pants falling to her feet —
She was too young to Mama
someone else,
No amount of change could make this right.
Word
On
The
Street
Is
Her son got grown, left home, came back,
And raped her.
His own Mama.
And, after that day,
she got worse.
We would sit on my Mama’s porch, licking orange-sicles,
Talkin’bout life.
What my 8-year-old self knew about life?
Nothing…
But, Lucy didn’t care,
she stayed with me until the street lights
flickered.
We exchanged glances
of understanding,
Caring for each other
in ways my parents could not foresee.
She leveled the playing field for a child with an adult imagination,
I was at bat
She was my pitcher
I HIT SO MANY BALLS OUTTA THE PARK!
Kids ‘round my way added ‘Crazy’ to her name
Before I could multiply, later, so did I.
One day, we were making nice,
Having a good time on the porch and she leaned in close —
The devil appeared, sat between us, and tore at our hips.
“I ain’t crazy, lil’ lady. I gots all my sense.
Now, these kids think I am, I let’em.
But, you… You know betta.”
And, since that day, she’s just been Lucy to me.
