Vanity

 

Today, I saw a girl.

She was wearing a brown striped dress

just like the one I wore to

my uncle’s wedding when I was 11.

Except that hers was filled out

in places mine was not.

 

She hurried down the street

with an empty water bottle

and a black duffle bag

awkwardly slung over her shoulder

instead of the usual backpack

used by students from

Penn State to Berkeley.

 

Her shoes, brown sandals,

had a high wooden platform heel

that made her walking seem

much like a horse’s gait

only more painful…less graceful.

She was pretty, I guess.

I didn’t see her face.

I was too busy looking at the shoes and

the band-aids hiding blisters on her ankles.