Model on Sidewalk

An unfinished account of a woman on the street.

                                            Model on Sidewalk

It was Sunday,
The Sunday previous,
And the Sunday post.

Softly down the street she floats
The tails of her coat dragging silently behind
The clacking of her heels, a sharp pricking sound
The concrete beneath enjoys the pain.

Hazel eyes gaze out
Behind dark saucer glasses.
Catching all in her sight
Judging most unworthy.

Bangs like knives
Cutting through her cream skin.
From the wound no blood flows
Save the sweet scent of perfume.

Her perfect masochism
Endears her to the mind.
Reaffirming and resurrecting,
In beauty she is there.

It was Sunday,
The Sunday previous,
And the Sunday post.