Blessed Are the Poor in Miami Beach

She sleeps all day under MacArthur Causeway
But shuffles at twilight with thorazine
Which is bad for business on Alton Road

Where Lizzie sells flowers to late night men
Whose wives pretend that a husband won’t lie
Whatever he smells like later in bed.

She buys a last meal for Luke who is sick
Of South Florida, agrees to say grace,
But otherwise won't let her wash his feet

Before Seven Up and cellophaned crackers
From vending machines not far from his Greyhound
And glorious busboys fresh in the men’s room.

She prays for him while she swallows her meds
As a new flock of snow birds leave the depot
For coke and rum on the rocks in bikinis

Like mythic Sirens that lure Lizzie strait
Back to the ramp with her new tramp in town
Who said he dreams of her queendom in heaven.