Dave Bonta looks at high heels and refuses to find them glamorous. He describes them as "portable pinnacles," a phrase that sounds grand but quickly turns suspect, since the heights exist only "for others' titillation." The woman wearing them is performing for someone else's eyes, her arched back made to resemble sex or a dangerous fall from a cliff edge.
The speaker's attitude is critical and uneasy. He moves from the outward look of the shoe to what happens inside it: the spine stiffens, the feet go numb, and the toes are crushed together. The final image is the most striking. Toes jostling like "a litter of kittens / tied up in a sack" is cruel and a little horrifying, and it makes the discomfort feel like suffering inflicted on something small and helpless. The mood is cold and sharp, with the short, clipped opening line setting a tone of blunt judgment before the poem tightens into pain.