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Poem

I would be wearing a backpack and puppies would be hanging out of it.
Their tongues would be hanging out too, and they would be smiling.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven puppies. Because you cannot have too many.

My face would host an enormous smile.
I would proudly show the holes where teeth used to be.
To let you know that I am not vain, or socialized.

I would be carrying a sketch pad, a notebook, brushes and acrylic paints.
My clothing would be speckled and splashed with reds, greens and yellows.
My I-pads would be hidden. For I use both to cheat at word games.
I might not want people to know that.

My hair would not be brushed. I would be limping thanks to arthritis.
Dogs would be following me, guarding me, saying “this is my mama”.
I would have enough sandwiches in a bag to feed me and the pups.

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