Poetry

Short Boots

Carol Jenkins

Short Boots

Twenty five dollar boots from Cooks—
on Oxford Street, cow hide,
Cowgirl-style, embossed, with a Cuban
heel, you meant business
and when, at eighteen, I walked
home in the hot compression
of summer after work, the local
mongrels once formed a pack, the
first, hair-sprung snarling, rushed
to introduce his throat to the solid
square of your accelerated toe,
coughed out a little dog blood
while all mine kept pumping,
safe, beneath my skin, dear boots I’ve
never loved any shoe better
than I loved you then.

Carol Jenkins