The Clack, Clack Of High Heels Poem by Paula Glynn

Clack, clack go her high heels,
As she walks down the highstreet,
She has many people to see,
And places to go,
She doesn't mess around: she means business,
Her femininity her strength,
And her beauty important.
She has many high heels,
And everyday she walks in them,
She stabs faster than the sharpest stiletto heel,
And kicks harder than any brutal man.
She can be cruel,
But she has other business,
To attend to today,
And tomorrow she may be your friend,
But she has a life to lead,
A life of her own design.
And she will always walk down the street,
In the clack, clack of her high heels,
Whether that be in her peach stilettos,
Even cherry red or black leather high heeled shoes.
You name it: she has it,
The long line of her leg rather exotic,
Something that only a hot country could create,
Like foreign mangos and pineapples,
Sweet on the tongue,
But not only for the young.
Because she reminds him,
Of his youth: times when he felt wild and free,
And she guides him,
Meeting him later today,
Because she shall comfort him,
And ease his blues,
As he kisses her ripe, red mouth,
Loving her long legs, and sexy, sexy shoes.