Allurement

Freud is at it again
probing what excites men.

It is not the size of the shoe
but the height of the heel

stilettos.

He watches the sophisticated pose
the way the wearer walks,

the sway of the hips
the shape of foot and leg.

Footnotes.

Teresa Ann Lowenstein

A large tortoise meanders with a philosopher’s jaunt
as we and other vehicular traffic choose a path
that does not intrude on his scholarly dissertations.

On the tarmac that intersects academia
and commerce the chanced glimpse
of a bushy tail betrays the pilgrimage of a red fox.

In a moment he is gone, in fact his quick
flight is nearly missed by my two daughters.
For this day we are all fellow passengers
on the highway that unfolds before us.

Here too, are geese, unwelcome guests
who will not leave, with them, their offspring
no longer chicks, but rowdy adolescents
who swagger before stalled impatient drivers.

Further down the street a rambunctious rabbit
forgoes verdant sheltered paths to cross
the byway that dissects a neighborhood.

Later, in solitude on a pathway less frequented
by commuters, I chance upon a red tail hawk
and wonder at the width of its wing span.

Now, I wonder what else lies hidden?
What waits beyond the turn?
Or the rise in the hill?
Or just beyond my neighbor's fence?

More than expected sightings of possum
and raccoon, of this I am sure, for nature seems
to have evolved a pertinacious pedestrian walk
and claims the macadam as her own.

Teresa Ann Lowenstein