Tonight's Poet Corner: Sweaty Shoes

Sweaty Shoes
by Belinda Roddie

Popping a gag reflex
behind my tongue, I spread my fingers
across the jagged stencil pyramids of
city halls and opera houses,
tipping the licorice brim of my
cowboy hat to catch the sunlight
in a halo around my Medusa hair.

We met on the corner between
disregard and disrespect, determined to
lock teeth and laugh, spit in each other's
mouths and chew winter mint splinters
scraped from fresh tar stuck to the
soles of your boots and the
soul of the bartender we said hello to
as we hid our eyebrows behind
cherry pie pints.

You asked my legs to dance,
my hands to steer, and my
eyes to kiss the whiskers
springing from under your scully cap,
tweed homecoming from your father,
who watched from the smoked ham corner
of the cigar section, squeaking red
from his jaw and coughing approval
out of his nose as you yanked my skull
like a caught yo-yo and snapped me back to you
as I sprinkled the floor with sweat and
wine and
strawberry mood swings.