a summer dress

little slips by me,
even at this age of
ninety-two. i have my
wits and wisdom
and cane to rely on,
to defend and offend
those that need to be
dealt with. my body
is my prison. it reeks
with old age, the bones
crumbling below the
sagging skin now a
horror of splotches
and sun driven ravines.
ah, but i still like to
see a woman in a dress,
as she strolls down
the sidewalk on the
first day of summer,
of course she doesn't
pay me any mind, or
even steal a glance,
those days are far
gone, and if she does
notice me, it's out of
pity, like seeing
a dog stuck on the median
of a four lane highway,
stranded with no way
out, no hope of survival,
but i bark just the same.