Raymond A. Foss Poems

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I saw her for a split second
driving down Canal toward home
off to the left almost over my shoulder

Something didn’t fit
caught my eye,
even in peripheral vision
made me look again, shake my head
try to make sense of the look
the affect she was going for

It was the shoes

Her top was pink, nothing special
she worn grey flare jersey pants,
anything but Capri,
scalloped and stitched at the bottom
in the old days, they would have been called sweats
that made sense, just a block down from Curves
but they weren’t matched to the top,
it was matched
to her pink strap slides
they were the thing that didn’t fit
made me look again

They may not have had spiked heels; but they were
shoes she would have worn out to cocktails last night
shoes for the club scene, not a stroll down on Canal
incongruous on the sidewalk
in the middle of the day
in the sunlight
visible for a moment
as she strutted down
toward the bridge

June 24, 2006 20:24

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