I’m a failure at most poetic forms,
like I was a fashion failure
in the corporate world, the world of suits
and pantyhose and heels.
Especially pantyhose. Look at them wrong,
and they ran so fast, they left
skid marks up and down my legs.
The only way to stop the runs at work,
(not that kind of runs, silly)
was a glob of fingernail polish
at start and stop. Which didn’t stop a thing.
My legs bore pearls of red and pink.
This is my first and last attempt at a sonnet.
Watch me run.
originally published in Medusa’s Kitchen, republished in Sonnets to Sing
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