From the floor,
I retrieved the ocher yellow sneaker that I had unsuccessfully
tried to jam on my slightly misshapen foot.
"Crutches are a nightmare,"
said the woman arranging shirts on the shelf.
I sat down on a black chair beside the shoe rack.
Suddenly I was riding from Tempe to Telluride in a black truck -
surrounded by sickenly familiar forced analogies.
In these situations, as I once told an eleven year old friend,
it is best to walk away with dignity.
I stood up from the chair.
(You are in a small store where the walls are lined with
folded clothes on wooden shelves.)
In a British accent, she offered to help me with the other shoe.
Limping with dignity, I accepted her help.
On Arts Wire, Chris and Valerie are repeating the word Versace.
I have no idea what it means.
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