from the fine wire-rimmed glasses
to your royal blue overcoat
your preening and spoiled dog that has
an attitude to go with its stylist
from your mouth held tight as the
grasp of your waxy fingers upon your clasp
to the way your eyes look down your nose
and straight ahead all at once
in my head I see your savings, your estate,
your pension and your inheritance
throttling life and foul air from your frail frame
dying alone and despised like the wispy,
brittle bitty I think you are