The other day I had cause

to open your wardrobe and shoes

fell out like maggots

from a corpse.

 

New shoes

old shoes

blue shoes

broken shoes.

 

A pair for every day of the year

it seemed.

Try as I might

I couldn’t get them all back, for

 

I don’t have your gift

for packing or hoarding. So I

put some in my wardrobe

because I don’t buy any shoes.

poem and image ©copyright rp 2016