Ruby Red

My father pulls into the parking lot of the new development,

His massive pickup barely fits into the spot

But it fits right in with the other cars in the lot.

He says it’s a white car,

Now I see what he means.

I feel like an infiltrator when I walk through the doors,

White faces turn in our direction,

Blue eyes watch our movements,

From corners and pillars and beams,

They’re not as subtle as they think.

I’m ready to leave but father is determined to check out the footwear selection,

Hiking shoes are good for work, apparently,

They aren’t really my speed.

I’ve worn through several pairs of cheap combat boots,

He tells me to look around anyways.

I wander,

More like creep.

Not too far,

Blue eyes burn me,

Flying monkeys perch on the rafters.

They call me.

Brown soles,

Black laces,

Dusty brown grommets,

Red leather.

Compelled,

I wear them out of the store,

They don’t come off for the next five years.

Stolen from the witches den,

My own ruby slippers.