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
what he thinks is home?