Personality in Parenthesis
His boots are empty, maws of black
gabardined and galvanised
waiting for the woollen flesh
to tread them into bovine haunts
of peat and pasture, byre and beer.
Stiff-neckt and stubborn-toed
stout-heeled with chunks of wear
where resolution met resistance
and neither came to compromise.
Yet in the surface can be seen a
cragginess which with a whispered
word or stroke melts into rare gentility.
The boots stand just inside the door
a paradigm of modern womanhood, her
world within my own. Calf-length,
lopped over hare-like, stilettos incisor-sharp,
doe-lined and tap’ring to the point though
velvet-smooth; fashioned from calf-belly, a
touch of culture and coffee;
a pied urbanised, aroma of Arabia,
soled and heeled by brush of Bremworth,
parquet’s fing’ring. So much of her is there
I never noticed when she went; I smoothed
and tongued the boots.
If you have any comments on this poem, Bob Nimmo would be pleased to hear from you.