Shoes stack up like promises in the closet.
I wonder how some of these ever fit me.
Must be a time to cast away stones:
And so that’s how I came to be here,
Bag of old rag and me by the street corner
Figuring how best to obey the road rules
As I wait for this natty red roadster
To figure out what the fuck it’s doing.
Whatever you do, mad little bag lady,
Don’t act the Tarot card you resemble,
Fool and his knapsack. We don’t hunch,
Not like it was when I was teenaged
And all chin and shoulders, Quasimodo’ing
My invisible way across danger and out of it.
No no. Be a man. Stick out your shoulders,
Pretend those tits are pecs, pecs, dammit,
Muscular motherfucking Hercules
In a leather cuirass, pumped up with steroids
Till he looks like Page Three.
Stand with your hips wide, too, let them see
The nothingness that is somethingness,
At least in your mind’s eye, down in
The trouser parts. Oh he’s gonna notice you,
Dressed like Ronald McDonald and Santa’s
Crazed delinquent love child, sack of boots
Slung and ready to deal out Krampus style
Thrashings on his bumper if he doesn’t.
And what if the trick fails? What if he sees
Right through your motley and goes, hey,
Wait, this isn’t Loki trying on new names,
It’s just some bitch trying to out-butch me;
Well what then. We wait, as we always wait,
To let the fools pass us, till we can carry on
With slow steps, towards a place where
We can let down all our burdens.