Hot Tin Roof

Inside her utterly animated mind
Lively emotions dance precariously
Like a black cat on a hot tin roof

As she walks through fields of bitterness
Tightly holding onto ambiguous thoughts
That may touch on his cloaked sensitivities

He keeps deeply hidden
Beneath his drinking jacket
While he keeps company with Jack, Jim and Johnnie

Who console his wounded pride
As they slide down his parched throat
Keeping him from withering away at the seams

So she keeps these secret animosities well hidden
Underneath her pink parasol of silence
As she sullenly sits on a bench of regrets

Under a handful of weeping willows
That delicately sway the truth
In mis-begotten winds blowing her way

Where she ponders how to speak her thoughts
In a southernly womanly way
So as not to harm his manly pride