Glass Stilletos 

You watch ther girl burst into 
two, no, three or four silhouettes 
in the sweaty dance floor, and 
before you ask her about 
the necessary details she disappears.

The December road walk alongside.
You throw some leftover quick meat
to a stray dog that barks in delight.
The girl, although you cannot guess,
works as a maid and has only one 
Milky way mini dress. Now she sleeps 

holding an old pillow and excitement.
The winter night flies away; its shrill call
is as sharp as a pair of glass stilletos.

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