High Heel Soccer Cleats

Yeah, she’s the real comeback kid
The stay out late kinda kid
Forever and perpetually in recovery
Down and out in life’s next disappointing discovery
She's the glow of city streets vivid, cracked, lava concrete
Moving side step in her high heel pavement soccer cleats
From the smears of painted faces, she hid
The kinda girl who doesn’t kid
And this guy is following her with cutlery
Chasing her down another empty, pitch-black alleyway
The city lights casting his shadow over hers by over forty feet
She turns to see him looking at her like a piece of meat
But she’s the real comeback kid
A girl that doesn't fucking kid
He’s standing there, salivating, sweating, hard, and pudgy
She's just another easy, cornered luxury
But this girl doesn’t skip a beat
She reaches for her feet
Looks at him and tosses her hair back in conceit
And crushes his skull in with her high heel soccer cleats

-Jonathon Dye

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  1. Michael Little

    Dang! Wow! Somehow a story was written inside of a poem. Very difficult task. Love the literation.

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