Pants

 

She called my trousers pants,
rolled stockings down my feet.
I knew then she would demand
a crease down every leg,
trace each stitch along hoops
where the belt slinks.

Just when we heard romance
knock outside the door,
desire revealed itself as a sock,
empty of foot, a shoe,
overturned and scuffed.

Now distance occupies the details.
What lasted the longest
was leather curled in the hands
of a woman who didn’t know
the punishment inflicted.

  — Larry Fontenot