|
She was born in an oil-drum |
|
South side of |
|
ChicagoWhen |
|
East St. Louis was not far away |
|
She'd lace knives to her boots and go down to the riverbed |
|
Skate around and around till the night became day |
|
The cannery fellows would follow her everywhere |
|
From the grocery store to the |
|
B.Q.EWith their hearts all aglow from her icy back at you stare |
|
Then her teeth became tight when her eyes couldn't see |
|
And she told herself that this was enough |
|
For a girl who was born in an oil drum |
|
She had her skates didn't need lots of stuff |
|
She didn't need it but she still wanted some |
|
She had one thing that she liked and she kept around |
|
She would take it with her to the riverbed |
|
As she skated around she always thought |
|
Of a pretty sound that she heard as a girl |
|
In her mother's bed |
|
The sound of some breathing another breath |
|
In and out when some lungs expand and contract like they do |
|
And she looked at herself in the ice of the riverbed |
|
And she saw a girl one which she could see through |
|
And she told herself that this was enough |
|
For a girl who was born in an oil drum |
|
She had her skates didn't need lots of stuff |
|
She didn't need it but she still wanted some |
|
She still wanted some she still needed some |
|
She still wanted some she still needed some |
