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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.