Little girl with the big shoes

Little girl  with the big shoes

Quite the catch, this one,
Jollying up the crowd with banana bread.
The bread crumbles in her impersonated Brit teeth
And it’s crumbly and bohemian like her,
Just like her,
This petite girl with the blue and yellow boxing boots
Who drifts along gravel speckled concrete.

She walks the casino sky highways
Straight to the French Riviera,
Where she acquires and accent and mimes along the Champs Elysées,
Posing for pictures with sideways glances.

No doubt there are springs in her shoes,
Williams on her mind and Kerouac in her soul,
This beatnik beauty bouncing to life’s guitar strings,
Throwing up her collar and letting down her hair,
Riding the brassy sound waves to the shores of California.

She makes milkshakes and malts of men and chocolate,
Watching as they liquefy at her feet.
Just the same,
I puddle in her presence
And I should probably thank her mother.