Most don’t want to hear

Not at all

Some kind of religious music

Playing everyday

She’s slouched there

Her old cassette

Smoking cigarettes

Taking their donations

Nicotine stained fingers

Sagged on her chair

That Jesus music so-so loud

Most listening not much

Who come to her

Having found God

Slowly crawl to her trailer

Pass over those bags of old clothes and such

Through their lowered windows

Not listening for anything

Just see her

Something scary

Blowing streams of hot smoke

Fractious feeling

With every facet of her craggy pebbled face

She bears all they give her

Humming for them

Talk story

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