To the Hooker-Heeled Harlot in Starbucks This Morning

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mystery Box.”

I don’t know you.

But I see

your skin smooths into heels I’d never own,
your shapely calves curving into my eye-line

unmistakable.

What they don’t see are your veins, blue criss-crosses
wrapping around your ankles,
reminding you what they will look like in the years following
these gorgeous mornings

You reign right now, coffee queen.
Daintily sipping your free water
manicured nails tapping the table
And we know you’re waiting here.

Where you can kick up your stiletto
hang it in the air and dangle it like a ribbon
And I want to take them off you
Like anyone here with eyes.

Instead, I remove my mantle
and smooth out the chips on my shoulders.
You deserve this box of mystery in my hands,
filled with what you need, if you dare open it.

I wish the box contained slippers, cashmere
and quality, a luxurious balm for your swollen feet

I wish the box contained a mirror, for the smiles you cannot see
or to highlight what you hold dear
to assuage your insecurity or nourish your self-esteem

I wish the box contained a pair of hands, to massage your skin
bring any aches to the surface before banishing them forever

I wish these things inside your box
Or the time for you to find them on your own.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “To the Hooker-Heeled Harlot in Starbucks This Morning

Talk at me while I eat

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s