by Mary Mageau
Straight ahead, perched on a perspex platform in the window of an elegant boutique called RAGS, I see a pair of red shoes to die for. The color takes my breath away - a richly vibrant crimson, like fresh blood flowing from an open wound - dream shoes with their low cut fronts, sling backs and the thinnest, highest stilettos I’ve ever seen. I could wear these with my three quarter slim line jeans, a red and white gingham blouse covered with frothy ruffles and then I’ll have the look: so pert, perky, prettily petite. You don’t walk in these shoes – you stalk in them, so I’d team them with a bias cut black jersey evening gown, no jewelry, just a single crimson rose in my hair: so chic, sleek, sveltely slinky. Transfixed I move closer to the window to gaze and fantasize until I catch sight of the tiny price tag that reads (gasp), $500. Crestfallen I move on but soon I’m dreaming again about my cute red K-Mart sneakers, navy town shorts and a blue and white striped T shirt with a sailor collar: so nifty, naughty, nattily nautical – so perfect for my weekend.
Mary Mageau lives in a rural village in Queensland, Australia. She writes whenever she can: non-fiction for magazines in Australia, New Zealand and Singapore; poetry for Haibun Today, Atlas Poetica, Gusts and Paper Wasp. (Digital photography is a passion that enables her to capture Australia’s magnificent flora and foliage for her creation of haiga: "photo poetry.")