Her Shoes

Spiky footfalls ring loudly Conspicuous Unmistakable They echo in the hollow concrete chasm A modern anthem of absurdist ideals; A self-imposed handicap, Underscoring her vulnerability Three million souls in this seven mile city, and where are they now? Not on this long tall stretch of dark, Unless, perhaps, they're all hiding… A nervous laugh at the silly notion And yet; she surely feels their groping eyes Weightless yet invasive The chill breeze lifts her hair, her hem, her heart rate Adrenaline is the purest, cleanest high Why else the two hour wait for the two minute ride At Magic Mountain, Busch Gardens She recalls his face, so beautiful in the gloaming Eyes lit with vicious good humor and beer “I can fuck up your hair for free; Ride through, No waiting Her stomach dropped as she floated up, up They left his credit card at the bar Out of the darkness onto Market Ambient laughter Her bus unloading The spell is broken Like her heart But she lives to fight another day