Prodigal
Alison Pelegrin

Lifter of scarves and glitter lipstick,
.....tearer of checks from Granny’s pocketbook
and vanished from the trailer ever since—
.....it’s long lost Brandy, slut-cousin-on-the-rebound,
all around authoress of smut across our name.
.....Crafty disappointerer, bastard-maker,
concealer of abortions and live births,
.....ward of an unknown state, tongue kisser
and more of total strangers, street fighter
.....with toothscarred knuckles and a Vaseline smile.
Fibber in the first degree, killer of time
.....between rides, snatcher of what truckstop diners
leave on the plate, finder of clothes
.....in other people’s closets, kin absent so long
we sometimes forgot to light a candle.
.....Girl once pretty sans the mean mouth
and blue tattoos looping ankle and wrist
.....like monsters of the deep, girl now more like
a mug shot of that former self. Spent girl,
.....zombie besprinkled with jailbait freckles,
smoker of generic cigarettes, out-of-the-blue
.....arriverer on Thanksgiving Day who raided
the Percocet stash before she said hello,
.....who dumped her trash bag of stuff on the stoop
and wears blue jeans more dirt than denim.
.....We promise not to hound you Brandy, O wanderer
and pickpockets’ patron saint. Remove your broken boots,
.....stash that wad of bills elsewhere on your person,
and for tonight at least, rest in a fresh bed,
.....O daughter, O spacer of Texas between us,
O hitchhiker too weary to lift a thumb.