Memos from the Middle

Smack-Dab in the Middle of Living

The Walk

The last time I saw her,
she walked in syncopated rhythm
in a skirt too short to move.

The cowboys, throwing dice in the cut,






as her heels
click, click, clicked
passed  the halted game.

Aunties and grandmas on porches:
“Look at that over there,”
while their husbands
and “friends” wiped wet brows
on dingy handkerchiefs,
eyes screaming

Each step elicited
and lust,
and she walked on,
seemingly oblivious
to the suspended living
she left in her wake.

I watched her,
as did everyone else,
disappear up the block
in the summer sun.

My mama says,
“She was lost long
before she was missing.”

Her mama says,
“How come nobody
saw what happened
to my baby?”

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2 thoughts on “The Walk

  1. Damien on said:

    Once you explained this one to me it made me sad. it reminded me of the days when i used to strut down the avenue into the sunset. All the boys would watch me in anticipation of seeing my backside once i passed by. Those denim daisy dukes got’em every time.

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