Be the shoes.
Be the Eiffel tower heels
preening in periwinkle linen
outlined in patent leather ivory.
Be the baby skin red leather wedgies
offering up their open backs
and straps to tie suggestively around the ankles.
And why not be
the black suede pumps
whose rhinestones flash the legs?
Be the woman
who snaps to her senses,
eases on her orthotics
and shuffles out the door.
Be all the pretty shoes no longer wearable.
Be the pleasure remembered all day long.
© by Jean Colonomos.
Used with the authorís permission.