She walks her yappy little Laso often. I would say,
early in the morning, again at noon, then later in the day.
Regardless of the hour, come rain or shine,
She gets him out to relieve himself which really is quite fine,
She is no spring chicken; is at least as old as me,
Which means her skin is sagging round her eyes and either knee.
Nothing to be done about that, I am perfectly aware,
But you would think at least once a week she would comb her morning hair;
And pull on a robe, perhaps, to bind her pendulous breasts;
and continue wearing her blue face mask as she reports on her positive tests.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said when we met out walking a couple days back
“I’m still in my (short) nightgown. I just don’t care…” I gave her little flack,
But I do wish I would have some warning when she is out and about,
so I could be ready to cover my shock when we meet along the same route.