Literature
Politically.Correct
Buttons glittered delicately,
finger-stepping their way up a rigid spine,
whispering morse code to the brocade across her shoulders
don't.give.up.
while her chin rose proudly against words
meant to unravel lace.
Her shoes were dull against a gray sky, the soles thin,
but the worn leather smelling softly of shoe polish
and the memory of what it was like to shine.
This morning they supported her
as she stood tip-toe to kiss her husband goodbye
and climbed just a few more steps
to see one more sunrise.
In a moment, they will be all the world sees,
because they'll tell us more than we ever wanted to know
Kicking, twitching,
and fi