they walk down the steep incline
of the hill, on the sidewalk,
to be safe from the cars,
and as they come down
to Main Street, their bulk
and laws of physics
that they know nothing about
nonetheless operate,
and they involuntarily
pick up speed, and
it surprises them for a second,
as they fight to maintain
their balance
on top of running shoes
that never run;
they puff on their smokes,
clutch their see-through
handbags, and even with sunglasses,
they squint into the sunlight,
on their way to the sub-shop,
to pick up the lunchtime load;

these women are meant
to heal me.

June 1, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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