Footwear I am a shoe. Not one of those plain-faced Nikes,white sludged into nondescript brown,tread-worn and world weary,trudging the familiar tracks. Not an Air Jordan either,bold red and white and black.Inked with the gaze of a childhood bully,Colored with the spring of a hardened athlete. I am not a ballerina slipper,Pampered pink and simpering sparkle,Plié and pointe through thequagmires of the stage. No, nor a flip-flop,So much summer infused in rubber,Happily squelching with the essence of soaked sea,Simple make for simple story. I think maybe I am a cowboy boot with spurs,Beaten mind and cracked veneer,Jabbing into humanity’s soft embrace,Kicking, kicking, kicking still. The Poser This is the pose of a thinker:Mind spread-eagled,Making love to the strategic window,Building slow rhythm of thought,Hoping the orgasm will shatterimprisoned inspirationthat screams for release. This is the pose of a doer:Back to the wall,Ninety degrees of concentration,Angry lip and furrowed brain,Combating the element ofSunday stuporthat postulates in heat. This is the pose of a lover:Corpse-like inadequacy,Splayed like frogs pinned on a lab table,Open only because they have been put there.“Ribbit. Ribbit.”Clammy webs of indifference. Jihan Bok is a recent graduate who hopes to one day find the meaning of life in a bag of Ruffles. She has a rather large aversion to sidewalks and enjoys eating like there is no tomorrow.