For A.H.
Something about the dog-walking widow
Passing, each morning, on Ocean Front Walk
Down at the paddle tennis courts—no quit
Shows. Chin high, scion of talented stock,
She glows with easy smiles (her features’ norm).
And though she strides with military spine,
Evidence reveals underlying warmth—
It’s the dogs, you see, scraggly, not divine.
Despite her fame and wealth, no stately Danes,
No coifed poodles here. Rescued mutts attest
A heart engaged, that’s always been the bane
Of bleak injustice—always, without rest!
Our heroine (frankly, we dwell on her),
Our local angel, our Anjelica
(5/14/11)