The Yellow Brick Road
By Jocelyn Morris
Thrifting on Malibu ave...I spy a woman in red.
There’s another woman too on the street parallel,
on Yellow Brick Road.
The woman in red, her perfume trails,
Striding shoulders, hips, and turning heads.
It’s a salsa when she moves, She misses every crack in the sidewalk,
Even in New York, Yeah she belongs in Belair But this is Idaho. She answers her phone like she’s the C.E.O.
Bitch hasn’t lost a game since tic tack toe.
And what about the other woman on Yellow Brick?
Saw her walking with a laundry bag, pots, and pans.
Making all the noise she’s a one lady band.
Smuggling all the cookies she could hide in her pants
The woman on Yellow Brick can’t afford a pad,
Or a penny. And pennies are free. She’s wearing red too, Her perfume trails wherever the wind goes.
plasma dripping down her legs Splish splash splish She rains down the sidewalk Just like a fish
Steps on the back of her shoes
She’s high as hell. Her tears have crusted, She can feel the stares, But bag lady don’t care.
Because her life was a fantasy,
Neither here nor there.
Because this is Malibu ave.,
It’s a fashion show there,
And she’s the prettiest one
With lipstick smeared,
Yeah she’s the prettiest one.