Nancy died, my mother says, and I picture Nancy Sinatra.
I was listening to
“Bang Bang” the day before.
Nancy, Tom's wife, Tom and Nancy, one house down;
I met them once or twice.
I know more about Nancy Sinatra than I know about the neighbors.
She
went quick, my mother says.
The way I want to go, I say, and there it
is, between us.
Through
the window I see Tom, in the garden Nancy tended;
I'm
trying to remember all the words to “Bang Bang”.
I
know more about Nancy Sinatra than I know about Tom and Nancy.
She went quick, my mother says.
She
was alive and there it is, between us.