At Five
Black ones, particularly
the Magic Steps pair
the elf next door
traipsed through the sandpit
the clear plastic shielding
the key in the heel
scratched to buggery
At Ten
Black patent
after seeing a pair
on an afternoon gameshow
the sheen like wet playtime paint
undulled by lime gunge
At Twelve
The strap
pinking a moist track across
her foot
pinning it inside black gloss
At Fourteen
The heel
that rose
like a drillbit from the earth
that became law
that pushed out the arse
forced ponytailed footballers
to unlearn tottering
and shone like an oiled spike
At Eighteen
Accidentally
the contact
as she stood in lipstick
jokingly suspending
her rabbit-eye black birthday shoes
above my groin
and slipped and apologised
and apologised oh shit
as I wept
clapped hands
over the mess
At Twenty-Eight
The blonde hair
the height
the vinyl hangman garb
the goading
the black crop
the list I left her for
and tend like a gardener
adding criteria
reducing like a cincher
those eligible
until my search results read
nil
