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Striders
make great leaders
with that certain dignity of
step
they find the paths, they set the
pace
forward in the human race
vision and courage and depth
status, power
grace.
Strutters
spur rebellion
breaking daughters from their
mothers' arms
charismatic force they know
they've got the stuff to let it
show
passions and challenges and
charms
impulse flames
aglow.
Some
people march
some waddle or mosey or glide
others stumble, trip or slide
many simply hoof it, like so many
cattle.
But,
sometimes, if you're lucky
you'll meet a slinker.
Only
slinkers slink,
like a slender, snakeskin
cowboy
tobacco on a sunburned lip
holster on a slim, slippery
hip
slinkin' solo to the bar
stool
and stopping, as still as a poker
face
smooth as a guitar's curves would
trace
lazy as a dog, on the porch after
chase.
Prostitutes
try to slink, I think
but that's the problem with
slinkin':
you can't try to slink.
If you're trying,
whatever you may be doing
you sure ain't
slinkin'.
World-weary,
wealthy women
who've had and tried it all
and found it insufficient
for whom good fortunes have been
misgiven
whose honest lies have been
mistaken
slink,
too,
because
they know themselves
and know that since they've had
it all
they must have had it
whatever it is
at one time or another
but can't seem to get it back
nor even find out what it is
or where to look for
it.
Wandering
cowboys do know what it is
and, being slinky, they sometimes
find someone who wants
to give it to them.
They
just don't know how to take
it
or how to give it
back.
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