Knotted up to my knee,

black and silk smooth.

A pretty, lacey ribbon sat contented among frills.

The edge was bent upwards, folded accidentally

while I may have been sitting down.

The elastic; hidden behind the frill;

served the real purpose.

The ribbon had no real intention;

It was just there to look pretty .

But it was oh so pretty!

Black and shiney in the artifical light.

But the bow was too small,

making me want to bend down and fix it.

Though how strange I may have look already!

Small, little girl, arms folded behind her hunched back,

starring down at the black ribbons on my new stockings.

The man at the bar took notice and offered to fix them for me.

He went down to his knee;

his hands by the hem of my skirt.

But I laughed and gave him a kick.

What would he know about tying ribbons?

I retreated behind my mother,

who was having a strange man lace up the ribbons on her bodice.

I looked back to my stockings.

How pretty the small black ribbons looked.