Poetry

Before my office with a view, I wondered:

how could you stare at empty bushes for hours,

sustained by mere hope of a squirrel sighting?

Yet, I gaze as intently as you when

I behold the parade four floors down: one

woman after another in a short

skirt, high heels, coffee cup in hand, strides by.

At first, vertigo threatens when I look

down into cleavage canyons. Fall settling

in, plunging necklines yield to turtlenecks.

Sometimes in the wintry desert, pastel

platform pumps appear, shocking as red dog boots.

Still, I’m content as you, to dream away

the season through half-closed eyes, recalling

imagined glories of springtime chases,

an armchair hunter only.

Toni Artuso is a transfemale writer based in Salem, MA. Recently retired from a 30-year career in educational publishing, she is now transitioning, as well as refocusing on her writing. Her poems have appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, The Aurorean, Ibbetson Street Press, Italian Americana, Main Street Rag, Pegasus, Pine Island Journal, Poetry Depth Quarterly, U.S. Catholic, Late Knocking, Z Miscellaneous, and Poetpourri.