Shoes fall straight unless you give them a push,
then they arc with a short, graceful lilt on their southern descent.
The first hits a car, its distant thud announces a dent, setting off the alarm,
the second seeks cover diving into a bush twenty-one stories below.
Socks are a waste – you’ve got to ball them up
then take aim for pedestrian or convertible.
Argyle rain won’t hurt anyone but it makes for a nice surprise,
lightening this precipitous world pressing me close to this edge.
Pants writhe with pleasure when the wind is just right,
snaking their plunge to a small denim puddle.
The underwear comes next – almost not worth mentioning
its tiny panty parachute hangs up in a tree.
Toss the shirt, the bra is next (I save my favorite for last).
It floats, it flies, a billowy dove, teasing the concrete below.
Milking the breeze, taking its time, it ribbons and plumes,
and lands with a sigh, marking that spot just for me.
I’m naked. I’ve no more to give,
and sun feels good on my skin.
So I’ll wait ‘til they come get me
Come, get me! Take me away!
But I’ll always come back again.