Alcoholic secretary
smokes a pack a day.
Hides in her car at lunch
puffing shame fags alone –

Hangover Betty – she is a sorry case.
Too bad to deserve a pregnancy –
God recognizes this type – this type with
veined and reddened face.

Pathetic fat Betty;
at thirty five it’s almost over;
at thirty six her liver’s blown;
at forty two cirrhosis comes.
Then emphysema… all done.

Wouldn’t you be drinking, and that much too?
Knowing what was coming – what was in store for you?

Oh, it’s so sad.
Oh, what a wasted life.
Could’ve been so many things

Horseback prodigy at twelve.
More recently, on her back
below a stranger’s balls

How does one type up a rich man’s
will with shaking hands and runny eyes –

How does one sit through law firm lunch
knowing one might vomit
upon the lap of senior partner

Then – exact it all again come drinking time at 5 pm.
This smacks of pain in cycles

Alcoholic paralegal knows her time
is nigh – to decide to live or rot in hell,
and if she lives, the rottenness of her

Former life will feel a lot like hell on
earth. What would you choose…
survival or more easily to die – just ask
Rotten Betty.
Drunk slut Betty.
Life of the party, funny Betty.

Your sister and your
daughter Betty.
Your wife and friend and mother Betty.

Just ask me –
Alcoholic Betty.

Photo Credit: HayleyaFinn Flickr via Compfight cc

Elisabeth Horan

Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She writes to survive and survives to write - We are all battling something. Let's support each other. Elisabeth enjoys riding horses and caring for her cats, chickens, goats and children (not necessarily in that order). She teaches at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire.

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