I saw her ghost

pretending to be someone else.

After all, she never owned a small dog

leading her on his long, leather leash.

She would never wear purple-orange skintight pants

in public, stretched over a bent body

tucked into bright red sneakers.

She is too old for that kind of outfit.

Earlier that same day

three messages popped up on my screen,

blinking tote board warnings

miles apart on a darkened highway:

Everyone in my family threw me out.

That’s it! I’m done!

I am taking all of my pills right now!!!

Now I ask

just who gave her that cute little puppy,

a ball of white fluff cotton canine cuteness

and who is she

to let go of his leash

and let him run around loose

scraping tail and collar along

the asphalt shoulder of the highway

heading toward

what he thinks is home?