New York Walkers

If I could torture myself
Like those hucksters on the street
Muttering a greeting and retreating
Wryly eying every other body
Dissipating threads with a steamy stare
Lithely disgracing themselves
Giving unequivocal birth
Mismatched attitudes
Conceptions of perfection
That really isn't there
Compartmentalized gestures
Towards those who would be fair
Were it not for the incongruence
Of their component parts
Summarily silenced retorts
Feeling mighty and violated alike
A twilight stroll becomes droll
The mall of gawkers
Are would-be stalkers
In the midst of this turmoil
Never once
Doth she don a smashing outfit
And then renounce it
Forever frightful of missing the advance
Of the knight with a comely stance
Not realizing that without makeup
Comfortable clothes in their place
Will set them free from pretending