God save the thin woman
in the longest parka imaginable
bisecting the lowly
wind outside my window;
that spectacularly inflated
little royal fountain
of a Pomeranian-Shih-tzu
gurgling along beside her
likely requires
someone truly special
to clean the interminable
gunk from the
corners of its eyes—
if not the matted
shit from its
jubilant coat—routinely,
without somehow
growing too humble
to keep scheduling
public demonstrations.
