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Betty Hutton (February 26, 1921 – March 11, 2007)

There was a hole. In the ceiling. A slap. Of windshield wipers. And the sweet song. Of the police. Escorting the family. Out of town. Betty’s mother wept. Into her purse. Where have I gone wrong?

Ceiling fans. Chopped up her name. Betty became the high priestess. Of jitterbug. Christine Jorgenson. Went under the knife. First person to undergo. Sexual. Realignment. Life. Moves so fast. When you’re never around.

On Broadway. On radio. In Hollywood. In movies. Where does Betty get all that energy? Success was satin sheets. Soiled. Cigarette veneer. Stains on the lamp shades. And that pool. Shaped like a kidney. Dr. Caligari’s cabinet. Without the cure.

On her knees. Weeping in the shower. The water swirling so perfectly down the drain. Down and out as the jitterbug Detroit juke box queen. On the sticky floors in the local…