Yeah, that ain’t me on the sign up there,
my thighs hangin’ out like the drumstick
the gal’s holding, kickin’ up her heels in neon.

My grandson’s idea, him the fancy chef,
settin’ up shop, usin’ my chicken recipe, which
is all well and good, but when people ask,

Where’s Lucy? I wanna holler in their ear,
Right here! Call me the ghost of chickens past,
call me a hovering spirit. Just don’t go thinkin’

I’m the dark-haired beauty lit up at night,
lookin’ all sassy. Though, come to think of it,
I had no little sass about me when I walked.

In fact, I’m still carryin’ all that sass with me
now, so maybe me and that gal up there
have somethin’ in common, after all.

***

(Thanks to Jessica Bruder for the daytime photo and the inspiration. And to Lucy’s in Austin, Texas.)