Bad Red Shoes

WHAT A SURPRISE What a surprise to see you as I was getting off work. You stopped by, you said, for a cup of coffee. I smiled as the words escaped your lips, both of us laughing at this, both knowing it for the ruse it was. As you followed me home so I could change did you happen to see my smile in the side mirror? I was hard pressed to keep it on my face. It lit up my car like a tiny sun, bounced 'round and 'round from ceiling to floor, tried to unlock the windows and the doors. Said, it wanted to ride in your car. SPRING SHOWER Sometimes I just get these ideas. They plop into my head like raindrops suddenly falling from the sky. Plop, plop, plop. I gather them up, and if I'm lucky, they fill the bucket of a poem. SPELL-CHECK My body is no longer the flawless manuscript most men would take time out of their busy day to read, no longer as exciting as the latest novel, nor as interesting as the daily news. There was a time, when everything was capitalized in all the right places, the i's were dotted and there were no uncrossed t's. Everything was worded right. Sentences had the appropriate emphasis and titles fit me perfectly. Now, I am more like the comics, and even some of them aren't funny but rather tragic. I was beginning to think I was of no more use than a rolled up newspaper used to swat flies. But then you found me. You read the manuscript, overlooking the flaws. There is no need for spell-check, you accept me as I am. My words come off your lips in the form of poetry, and in your eyes I am the sonnet I had always hoped to be. IN THE PHOTO In the photo my mother is beautiful. Though it is in black and white, I picture her cheeks rosy as pink Chablis. Her hair cascades think and wavy to meet the soft slant of her shoulders, covered demurely in a dark dress I imagine, a shade of red. She is smiling coyly for the camera, as if she is the keeper of some secret, about to spring a surprise. The couch she sits on is smattered with clusters of tiny white blossoms. Behind her the wallpaper is enmeshed in huge green leaves pointing skyward; between each two leaves is a single white flower. The floor's linoleum is a characteristic 1950's pattern of multicolored and sized diagonal stripes. In the photo my mother is a constant, in surroundings I can only describe as busy, and so she has been for most of her life. The photo was taken after mine and my older sister's birth, before those of our siblings. It was long before school days, dating, marriages, children, divorces, grandchildren and all forms of crisis imagined or real which have transformed her once vibrant brown hair to gray, strand by strand. Long before wrinkles claimed her face, Arthritis wreaked havoc on her joints, Osteoporosis settled in her bones. In the photo my mother is beautiful. She is poor but happy, innocent and trusting, hinging on a promise, glimmering with love.