Preshly Idaho

By m.s.wardrip

Not a place, a person of interest,

A scallywag, a minister, a drunk, a spinster.

She wore orange burlap as clothes,

Plastic bags for leggings, kerosene for perfume.

A long white robe she slept in,

A brass tub full of rose water she bathed in.

The three story hotel on Virginia Beach,

Where Miss Idaho lived, where Preshly imbibed.

That bald old boyfriend, ninety-three in May,

The ceremony is on the beach, the flowers in the hair.

I will be there, I will be there, I will be there in May,

Lighting torches and playing beautiful music by the sea.

The only reason I have is setting things straight,

The only passion I have for Preshly Idaho runs deep.

Just send the money, honey, I can’t sleep, I’m the sheep,

Jumping once, counting twice, pitching wine at the big feast.

For myself, nothing, to her everything, silence for me as she sings,

I lost the love of my life, no wife, no strife, no life with a wife.. No life.

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