Shrouded by three-quarter sleeves
Arms tucked quite in between her knees
For urgent shelter from sunny’s rays
And comfort of a shadow’s gaze,
She made quite known
Her inherent wan
And frustration with
Just what was on
The radio, which feigned to sound
Somewhat just like a speaker drowned
Out by signals too high in number,
Could stir the deaf from soundless slumber.

And tinted with rose pink and plum
Toes woven in and out her thumb
For swift defense from wandering ants
Plus, she liked that private dance
Between forefinger
And phallux
Tangoing
With the hallux
Which soon might rest down on the lawn
Post a stretch and maybe yawn
And she, I’m sure, will follow suit
Since thoughts now have the world on mute.