sack cloth and ashes

 
 

My dear madam

You take note of

my ankles commenting

on my black socks. How

out of character you say, not 

missing a beat of my life. You chain me to

a granite block and hoist me up for all to see my

indecorous blunder; my gauche faux pas. The

inamoratas demand a sacrifice on an

altar of haute couture; clamor for a blood 

offering of chic repartee. You remove my shoes. You

roll up my jeans. You expose my offending

feet covered in sack cloth and ashes; expecting their 

end; mourning their doom. You save me from the 

mocking hordes with a simple spell; a bug in my ear; a 

wave of your wand. I don my requisite stripes and 

colors. The commentator begins. I rest. Your smile chants under your breath. 

©kcasady2017