My grandmother’s afternoons were written on her shoes––insides rubbed to fine parchment, once shiny trim worn down to dull cowhide, shoelaces loosened for easy ingress and escape, tongues swollen, vamps dusted from her habitual circling of gravel streets in search of treasures. Her pockets told the rest of the story–discarded Cracker Jack prizes, severed limbs of dolls, lost marbles, toy soldiers, single jacks separated from their families. Lined one slightly ahead of the other as though she had just stepped out of them, they told her last story that morning they carried her from her house without them.
To participate in this photo prompt, go here: https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/09/20/22-september-2017/
(Click on first photo to enlarge all. All photos by jdb.)
For Paula’s “Pick a Word” Challenge. The word I chose was “motley.”
Jeepers creepers, what’s a girl to do?
A great big spider just climbed into my shoe.
Don’t have a Prince Charming to drive the fella out.
Cannot think what else to do but panic and to shout.
Guess I’d better collect my wits and make a plan.
Get a glass of water, a squeegee and a pan.
Sacrifice my shoes and pour the water in.
Ruining a Jimmy Choo surely is a sin!
When I poured it in the spider scurried out.
Lifted up the squeegee and gave him quite a clout.
Squeegeed the remains into the little pan.
I’ll give it a scrubbing—later—when I can.
Go out to the garden to empty the remains.
All my sins will wash away, later when it rains.
No Prince Charming needed. I handled it myself.
Next time I’ll store my Jimmy Choos safely on a shelf!
Today’s prompt word was “Panic.”
Red Platform Heels
When I saw them in the store,
one half classy and one half whore,
the Crocs I had on seemed a bore.
Those heels were girlie, cut low, red.
I knew those heels would knock men dead.
As I left the store in them,
I was feeling oh so femme
until one shoe caught on my hem.
‘Twas then that I went tumbling down,
wrenched my ankle and tore my gown.
This fall was just a quirk, I thought,
with no regrets for what I’d bought,
for I was feeling oh so hot
that men would surely all be gawking.
I’d be more careful with my walking.
In Mexico, young girls or crones
go tripping over cobblestones
with no risk to their ankle bones.
Moving with sure-footed grace,
they never fall upon their face.
They chat as they cross streets together
even in inclement weather––
Their three inch heels of strapped-on leather
negotiate each slippery rock,
barely noticing where they walk.
So I got up from the floor
and sauntered once more towards the door
onto the street outside the store.
Where, once I got into the swing
I knew those shoes were just the thing.
My car was parked one block away;
but it was such a lovely day,
I thought that I would just sashay
up to the plaza for lunch and booze––
a trial run for my new shoes!
I belted up my dress a bit
so I would not trip over it.
Once more I felt sexy and fit
as I accomplished no small feat
negotiating each walk and street.
I must admit that I felt hobbled
as I walked over roadways cobbled.
Perhaps I grimaced, winced and wobbled.
But at the time, I was enthused––
thinking only of my new shoes.
When I reached the plaza and I walked by
a table of men, I felt each eye
peruse my legs from toe to thigh.
I knew that those new shoes were why
I held the gaze of every guy.
Maneuvering towards an empty table,
I walked as well as I was able,
but overlooked just one small cable
as I glanced over for their reaction.
That’s how I ended up in traction!