I used to see the crazy lady
on the street nobody messed
with the crazy lady not even the
crazy man the crazy lady was
a beast she talked to herself
pacing back and forth up and
down the street she had a lot
to say and damn she was angry
perhaps mad at the world who
could blame her she had the
right to be she had lived longer
than me she could see farther
than her past her skin was like
broken glass her shoulders
carried heavy bags her wrist
were tied in rags she held
petals in her hand I could
tell she liked pretty things
she even wore a wedding ring
it appeared to be newspaper
tied around her feet I crossed
over she owned that side of
the street it was her turf it
was her beat to walk I called
her crazy lady no one knew
her name so I wasn't the
only one who thought it
was something in her life
that made her go crazy
crazy enough to earn the
the respect she deserved