Slow Shoes

Occasionally,
When I walk the three blocks
To the dollar store around the corner,
I wear my slow shoes.
The pretty, uncomfortable ones
That pinch and rub my feet red
If I walk too fast.
If I don’t wear them just right.

So on those days, when I walk
Through the small streets of my town,
Wearing my slow shoes,
I amble, I mosey, I glide
Like a old-time movie star
Entering the scene.

With each slow step,
My hips have time to sweetly swing and
I take to humming and smiling,
My face composed like the popular girls
Who own the high school hallways.

I lift my chest,
Wishing my breasts
Were a little higher in a way that is
Fulfilling but not provoking as I
Lengthen the telling of my neck, that
Old worker bee of aging.

And I sail,
Smoothly, along the street,
My skirt dancing wildly around
My calves, my bracelets sliding up and down,
Shining in the April sunlight.
My body singing in my slow shoes
On my way to the dollar store.