Mo’ Mots

The sheen of your shoes caught my tired eye.
Up your pant leg, past your coat,
I saw through your wrinkles. Your eyes locked on mine,
and bulbous eyeballs swelled against their glass confines.
I lowered my gaze back to the lacquered leather.
You seemed the type to buy these shiny shoes,
one in the habit of slipping them under the hems
of young girls’ skirts, their panties in polish.
They hinted at the dirty pleasure of picking up
women like me in airport bars. You stared,
with hair slicked back and body stiff,
then dared to slip your toe next to mine.
So excuse my revelry –for some will call me clever–
when I stiletto your toe and scallop your immaculate leather.

we are so oppressed i once thought it was funny to think that it wasn’t me i was safe but then there we were crying in a room all women all staring blank faced
like when they were staring at me trying to undress trying to hit on me smack that pussy on the street at 2 a.m.  a woman has no business sitting on those concrete steps and in the dark our minds were running but we were there strength in numbers but then why did we feel so exposed to those boring eyes exposed to the night air the man who came to shake our hands only made it worse trying to be nice when he didn’t realize we are so oppressed he is the enemy we must not touch him make eye contact he is what makes us scared grab our purses clutch to our laps they called from the cars fucked with their eyes greedy with lust and power and privilege and possession what could we do but pretend that it would be over it wasn’t uncomfortable this was normal

The sunset hitting the sheen of your shoes
in such a way caught the corner of my eye.
Up your pant leg, past your coat
and through wrinkles your eyes locked on mine.
Your eyeballs, bulbous and bulging,
swelled against their glass confines.
As I lowered my gaze back to your shoes,
the lacquered leather hinted
at the dirty pleasure of picking up
young women in airport bars.
You seemed the type to buy such shiny shoes,
one in the habit of slipping them under the hem
of young girls’ skirts, their panties in polish.
Hair slicked back and body stiff,
you stared at me all the while,
then dared to slip your toe next to mine.
Now you must excuse my revelry in this,
but I really was quite clever
when I stilettoed your toe
and scalloped your immaculate leather.