Her heels lend her three and a half inches.
On nude-colored, patent leather stilts,
The view is different. In the cramped
Elevator chock-a-block
With trench-coated men, she stands tall,
Reaches an endless arm, tapered
Finger to punch the button for 8.
Her arrival chimes, robotic, majestic,
And she swoops through the doors down the carpeted hall,
Her pumps crushing the tan plush.
What a pleasant surprise. What a great project. This particular poem makes me feel like the Anna Wintour character from The Devil Wears Prada just blew past me, leaving my hair in a wreck and my self confidence in a shambles. I wouldn't want to be responsible for the effect on a man in a trenchcoat. Thanks for stopping by and introducing yourself.
ReplyDeleteP.S. I hope you checked out the link under many of my photos. The young man who takes them is a first rate people watcher.
ReplyDelete