The Wagon of Martha

Some say these are difficult times
"Where's my money, Martha?"
I kept saying.

I opened the door. What did I see?
That Martha had hidden all of her golden lettuces in a blueberry gown she wore, bare.

MARTHA'S WAGON is at its best. Oh sure she's stacking up evil grudges.
Martha stole all of our money, our lettuces.
She's the villain of the village.

"Hi, surprise." she spured.

She came to me with a suitcase,
set the suitcase to the sun. The son's right there beneath her waist, a martyr of spirit that feels the scent of the horse, lacks the sight of it.

I don't care about the money, but I see that your lettuces are growing ripe.

She will deliver volcano kisses (saliva of lava), and ice-cold baths.

Martha, are you heading east?
If you happen to see that man with the black hat, make sure to deliver him this:

"The rush does not slip your spirit, may it slip your horse.
Take good care of your family. Me and Veronica are waiting up here, except I wait with good intentions."