Next thing I
know he said,
Girl, I need a
break.
I called
Mother right away:
You got to
help me out.
What she sent
me was a pumice stone
wrapped in a
brown paper note:
Scrub
all ten of those toes.
The
shingled, smarting soles.
Scrub
them like I once cleaned your
clothes
In
a washtub
filled
to the top with so much lye
it
was foolhardy to breath through
my
nose.
When I could
slide pantyhose on
by the count
of five
I called him
to say
I want to
talk.
I'll meet you
wherever,
If you want,
halfway.
When I got
there I sat down
making sure
that he saw me
slice off my
shoes
giving him a
nyloned glimpse
of my
crimsoned toes
while they
tickled my instep and
caressed
perfectly rounded heels.
Gold heels,
browned,
like freshly
baked loaves
of bread for
the starving man.
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