So without further ado:
high heels’ sophisticated
sisters. Metal or plastic
tips wound carpets and floors, and
eroticize height. Hips swinging, Femme Fatale
Click, clack, click, clack,
metronome chorus concludes
with a dig into a submissive
partner’s skin, yielding, abdominal
against the attack of
two inverted towers that cause
buckling legs and back. That ain’t sexy,
young automatons toppling down
catwalks sprawled in fabric, twisted limbs
exposed by exploding electric bulbs
for picture-perfect pictures
Stilettos once hid in Imelda’s closet.
They crushed skeletons too old,
too tired to weep, swept under the rug,
her closet recycled, reborn a Mecca where
Sandal and Slipper Streets meet.
Her allergic reaction to ugliness
Buckling legs and back. That still ain’t sexy,
Note: My super funky stiletto boots started this, and a conversation I had with a friend filtered through. For my own ass-coverage, I asked him to cite his sources for the very useful, inadvertent, word-of-mouth inspiration he contributed to this piece. If anyone else is interested in reading about the infamous Imelda Marcos, the links are below.
“Homage to Imelda’s shoes.” BBC News. 16 February 2001. [http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacifi
Gunness, Christopher. “The Day I met Imelda Marcos.” BBC News. 13 October 2000.