|
Nobody's key fits my lock the way yours does, baby. Nobody has that long, slow slide. Nobody writes me letters that burn up the mail slot. Nobody stays up the whole night waiting for a ride. I had a party with fancy ducks and chickens reading from Shakespeare and telling lies. They ate up the buffet and spilled wine on the carpet. Nobody's key fits my lock the way yours does, baby. Nobody cooks me Santa Fe Stew. Nobody rocks me when I feel like crying. Nobody tunes their strings to my perfect pitch. I had a fling with the chief of police, cruising black and white, clinching to the crime radio. But he never stayed 'til morning, left me dialing 911. Nobody's key fits my lock the way yours does, baby. Nobody stands up and takes the rap. Nobody pairs my socks and folds the sheets just so. Nobody spots the heavy weights and gives me a boost. I had a job passing eggs over a candle flame, little ghosts of white and yolk and feather bone. I fried 'em or hatched 'em, but couldn't fry what I hatched. Nobody's key fits my lock the ways yours does, baby. Nobody grows me roses and snips off the thorns. Nobody gives me all their money like a gambler who's done. Nobody rubs me down like a deer at a salt lick. I had a baby, dark-haired and smart as mink. By evening I was blood tired and full of weather. Her daddy left me for a black cadillac. Nobody's key fits my lock the way yours does, baby. Nobody's key sounds so welcome late at night. Nobody kisses like the end of the world, baby. Nobody unlocks me the way you do.
©2002 by Jennie Orvino Music composed and performed by John Simon
Words by Jennie Orvino
Read an interview with Jennie
|
| Home | Contributors | Past Issues | The Ten | Links | Guidelines | About Us |
|
|
 Slow Trains, Volume 1 in print
|