Loony Lucy who's not that plain plays with dolls at seventeen, some joke played by the womb or genes. When she walks by the park, expressway, or lake there's always laughter, she's a happy girl. Sweet sixteens would walk away, and neighborhood men would pass her by not knowing what else to do or say. Mothers would hurry their little girls from her and boys playing ball would stop to shout "Hey loony Lucy show us your panties." Underneath the elevated highway where the sun is forever blocked, during the evening when shadows merge to form a blanket of dark, she meets still another stranger. He makes diamonds out of rhinestone and glass and promises to return in Cinderella's chariot, after. He presses her against the vaulting poles that hold the roadway traffic up. Their sighs are gentle below the roaring noise. Now she waits, again through the night for her chariot to appear.