The woman with red 3-inch high heels
marches down the sidewalk with a big,
brown cardboard box in each hand.
She holds them on either side of
her like shields, as if to somehow
thwart the glances of the idle men
who lean against the buildings nearby.
Though they do not move as she walks their way,
they are no longer idle.
a trembling lip,
a sharp intake of breath,
a tongue flicks across suddenly dry lips.
And the eyes.
Dull orbs quickly brighten,
a dozen dark pairs turn her way,
and the battle begins.
Gazes fall upon her like archers’ bolts.
She holds her head high and guards herself well,
but hips 3-inches higher and bright red shoes
are too much to hide.
And the shields are only paper. The chariot is reached,
the bucklers are stuffed into the trunk,
and the Amazon leaves another
March 1, 1995