Magic Slipper Blues (Poetry)

Black satin evening shoes — still new
and tissued perfect in their box
they’ve waited thirty years for their coming out ball
in their ritzy high-heeled innocence they dream on —
go dancing with some patent leather prince —
waltzing all the way to a romance
and stepping glamourous — light-footed — proud
along some moonlit terrace.

All that ambition packed into a size five
plucked fresh with promise from a shop’s display
glowing style but always doomed to be unworn
and kept wrapped in dark’s undisturbed cocoon
for decades — soles shiny and unmarked —
smooth fabric virginally unscuffed
for the princess was just a girl with big ideas

who’d loved them like a secret every time she wished
for magic in the stillness of her room
while life grew ordinary she gradually got wise
and way too old to wear the glitzy nonsense things
princesses choose — she no longer slipped them on
and twirled — imagining those satin shoes
symbolic of some mislaid destiny...

Ideals tear paper-thin — and fashions change
like skin that loses hope’s bright glow
once midnight’s come and gone
too many times.