A baggie of weed she bought off the paperboy
Fell to the floormat from the glovebox
Of her Plymouth Satellite
As she fumbled for registration.
She knew how to work a room, danced
Until last call, and shot pool like a pro.
She was the one relative
To spend summer weekends with.
No nursing home could hold her captive.
Her last escape found her at a tavern two blocks away.
They found her in the glow of the neon,
A pool cue in one hand, a vodka 7 in the other,
The same smile she wore in that long ago mugshot.