Not displayed for sale
nor placed by a doorway,
these lie discarded in the street,
one on its side,
instep lapping the curb,
the other paused to cross cobblestones.
What scared the owner from his shoes,
the nimble rabbit from the Au Lapin Agile
or St. Denis carrying his head
as he ran from the Roman Guards?
Maybe a can can frenzy overtook him
after a visit to the Moulin Rouge.
Or did the muse take him,
bored as she must be with no
Picasso, Toulouse-Lautrec or
Salvador Dali to inspire?
Then again, maybe a lover’s husband
caught him running naked through the street,
his shoes – missiles aimed at his head.
Houston, Texas, U.S.A.
Donated to International Red Cross