Traveler

Standing on the

platform at wing

listening to Leonard

Cohen and Old Crow’s

Crazy Eyes.

 

The sun rises

through a small hole

Clouds the forever

land sky scape.

 

my shoes no

longer fit

My blood is full

of wine.

O pilot please just

get us through

this hole of light

on time.

 

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Stiletto

That was me
on Robson Street
smiling
at the convertible boys
making good for
their ten second shutter clicking
on a summer’s day
with the breeze lifting
my linen skirt
my messy blonde hair
eyes behind leopard shades
lips just glossy enough
to offset my teeth
good enough for half-smiles
in July sunlight
slowing imperceptibly just
before the end of the block
not quite posing with my
Ya ya ya sass
hoping a photo of a city girl
was all they wanted
my feet reminding me
of that morning and
my willingness to take on
a sure sprinting handicap.