and I'm the leg of choice this evening.
When I was a wee thing
with a foreshortened torso
resting atop two stilts,
I stuck two plastic Legg's Eggs
into my training bra.
Man the torpedoes, they said. Nice try.
You'll never have the tits,
But nothing beats a great pair of legs.
I had the gams.
But Grable, Hayworth, Manfield, Monroe
had it all, didn't they?
and a leg to stand on.
He buys me a drink and I tell him the story
of the infamous Legs Malone.
She could shoot a gun with her feet.
Such a talent came in handy
in restaurants where
both hands on the table at all times
was the rule. Nobody never said nothing
about both feet on the floor.
Legs caused irreparable damage to many a legman.
Later, I fold my legs under the table
at the restaurant where we eat
leg of lamb, of course,
and I watch his lusty, toothy ripping
of flesh from leg bone.
That night, I dream of sending him
my legs in a box
like two perfect
long-stemmed red roses.
Julie Innis lives and works in Brooklyn, New York. Her work can be found at The Northville Review, Prick of the Spindle, Pindeldyboz,Up The Staircase and elsewhere.