View From The Basement Flat Poem by Suzette Richards

It was the sound that first drew me
to the low street-facing window.
I cleared a small spot in the grime
and was rewarded by ankles.
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

Joie de vivre discernible
in the rhythm of her hurried pace,
that's only broken when she skipped
the crack in the concrete pavement.
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

The fashionable red high heels
heralded slim, well-formed ankles
which could only lead to good legs
powering the mesmerising
clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

Perhaps a secretary or
working at reception nearby.
Her stride was confident, assured,
as far as the high heels allowed.
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

One could set one's watch by her and
it appeared someone did just that.
Jeans-clad and brown brogues appeared
from the opposite direction.
Clickity-clack … clickity-clack …

Not breaking her determined stride
he had to fall in with her pace.
Old acquaintances or new friends?
There was a slight skip in her walk.
Clickity-click, clickity-click.

Glistening in the morning sun
the gold ankle bracelet shone new.
Brogues in close proximity
to her, shortened his longer strides.
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

The summer heat did not entice
her to swap high heels for sandals.
He wore story socks with sandals -
a marked difference in dress code.
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

As cool autumn approached, so did
the distance widens between them -
the former rapport's now broken.
The staccato now hesitant:
Clickity…clack. Clickity…clack.

When the first flurries of snow fell,
her lone high heels sought purchase on
the thin black ice on the pavement.
The bracelet's not in evidence.
Click-clack, click-clack …