Patsy sings

Flouncy dress
and bobbed chestnut hair
wend demurely through the band

the filtered light of the swivel spot
and rasp of rosin on bow
call up the sound of scratchy vinyl

and Patsy sings.

crooning and bending over sixths and thirds
eyes down under fringed lash
baby hands thump the poplin of her dress
white pumps tip and tap

and Patsy sings

country fans gasp and clap
craning in their seats
"is it her?
yessir. that there's some singin,
Patsy Cl-ine.

You tell 'em, Louise.
Lor-dee."

over bacon & eggs
I hum a snatch of heartbreak
hear the crackle of kitchen radio
and palm-warm a half-thought-of cup

and Patsy sings.