City Girls
May 6 2007

City girls
clack down crowded sidewalks by coffee bars
in stiletto heels,
posing
behind the dark reflective shades of movie stars.
How that minor lift
smooths-out the line of her calf,
puts the swagger in her ass,
and gives every curve
that slight exaggeration.
So she is at once coolly unattainable
and fragile,
teetering tall and lean
on pinched high heels
that gleam like polished ebony.

A country girl looks corn-fed,
with callused hands and sun-bleached hair
and blue jeans
she could have been poured into.
She pilots giant tractors
and rides horses and heaves saddles
and doesn’t need a man to change a flat.
She dresses in plaid and denim
and boots of soft tanned leather
and would kick your ass in a second
if you let her.

The suburban girl just looks harassed
chasing kids with a bus to catch,
and a hasty shower
when all she craves is a long hot bath.
Her kiss is automatic
— more peck than ravish —
when her husband’s back,
dragging his tail after the boss had his ass for lunch.
She wears practical shoes,
lined-up nice and tidy beside her side of the bed.
Where she lies,
still, but wide awake;
listening to his breathing,
facing away.