her nails grow till they curl
like the coils in her Chevy,
paints them Vampire Sky black,
half-moons on each tip.
She never plants a flower,
does dishes,
cooks or
cleans house.
That's what LeRoy is for.
White trash, her backdraft,
the hushed whisper
whenever she ventures to town.
I'll be in the Guinness,
she announces. They'll say,
That DooLily, she sure
had great nails.
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