Wore down, down to the hoe down worn.
It’s still storming and I’m still stone crazy.
Call it rainy Monday, give me back my bouffant wig.
The thrill is gone.
I’m a queen bee wannabee.
Smokestack of blonde lightning,
a hellhound on my tail.
Me and my leopard skin pillbox hat,
born in a chicken shack,
lookin’ for the bright lights and big city.
Rattlesnakin’ gin-soaked Daddy,
come on in to my kitchen, baby.
Mannish boy, put a little sugar in my bowl,
and see that my grave’s kept clean.
Susan Cossette lives and writes in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The Author of Peggy Sue Messed Up, she is a recipient of the University of Connecticut’s Wallace Stevens Poetry Prize. A two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rust and Moth, Vita Brevis, ONE ART, As it Ought to Be, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Amethyst Review, Crow & Cross Keys, Loch Raven Review, and in the anthologies Tuesdays at Curley’s and After the Equinox.
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