I hadn’t thought that she
Might be wearing boots too.
Though she wore them in
Every memory
I had of her.
When I got up to meet her,
She was a solid inch taller than
Me, even in my boots.
Our mutual friend.
Must have just been
Too good of a plan.
After the clatter,
Could I detest her?
We sat
I crossed my legs:
My right ankle across My left knee.
So my pant leg pulled up so that
The stitching was exposed;
The delicate stitching of my boots,
And my failed attempt.
The “riding heels” were high,
So that your feet wouldn’t slip
Through the stirrups.
That’s what the guy at the store told me.
But they weren’t quite high enough,
And I don’t even own a horse.
“I got boots,” I said.
I knew it would be so
Terrible to see her.
But why now?
“Now everyone in St. Louis
Will say, He’s a Texan”
As if it would help,
“I’m wearing boots too!”
Hers also were delicately stitched,
Stunningly at that.
Yet they were hardly
Frantic as mine.
“cool!”
Later we were leaving:
“Look at us in our boots”
She rounded the last “oo”
like a piece of bubblegum.