Why is someone’s Grandmother
crapping under Camellia bushes-
and eating garbage?
The five-foot street cat stands and stretches
“I’m Winnie!” she proudly proclaims,
and offers me a Plumeria.
that she pulls from her torn Tartan jacket pocket.
Fumes of urine are fanned by the Hawaiian heat.
I pull back from those vermin hands
Fearful they will pollute my glands.
“I know how I smell.” She apologizes.
Then she cackles through her missing teeth-
“I’m seventy-three!
Last week I was raped!
They know I don’t have no diseases.”
My mouth drops. I inquire,
“Is that how you got the gash over your eye?
“Hell no! Those dammed skateboard kids beat me up
because I yelled at them for waking me up.
And those shithead-Jap-cops, here, hate us ‘Howlies’”.
“’Walk to the hospital,’ he says- and left me
standing there in my own pool of blood.
I sure wouldn’t want to be his Mother!”
Winnie spits at the ground, where she planted his face.
“He probably didn’t want to get no blood in his squad car.
“I’d a hit him with my sack but I was afraid I’d break my whiskey.”
She grins through some broken teeth,
“I’m no lush! Just always buy me a couple bottles of gin
when I cashes my Social Security check.
Lucky thing, too-‘cause when I falls asleep
Them no-good street scum always steals my money.
She makes a fist with powerful muscles-
“But they’ll never get my whiskey!”
WINNIE
Winnie sleeps beneath the flowers
With camellias as her garters
‘Till the gardener shakes his rake
And poor Winnie he does wake.
Winnie ambles to the trash
And her breakfast she selects
Roaches scurry from the sides
as she muses and decides.
Contented with her meal
She collapses to the ground
And her tights she pulls them down
so she can urinate.
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