Don't Stop Retrievin'

Shoe Shepherd

His canned food did not deter
his appetite for shoes
and I don't mean wearing them.
After all,
it's hard to wear shoes on your paws,
and it gets in the way of digging
holes in Mom's garden
or just in the yard—
it doesn't matter.

No, his appetite for soles
was literal, not religious.
They gave him something
he could sink his canines into.
If rubber was good,
leather was better,
slipper for breakfast
sneaker for lunch
stiletto for dinner.

Heel didn't mean stand fast,
it meant chew harder,
use the molars.
It didn't mean come
to the owner's left side,
but gnaw on the owner's left shoe.
And it gave his breath
a rubbery scent
like a black jelly bean.

Laces were tricky
like shoe spaghetti.
Too bad he had no fork
and spoon
with which to twirl them.
He'd fight with them
give up, save them for last,
strip them through his teeth
like dental floss.

by Jim Landwehr

in Volume 3 Issue2

Buy a Copy

Return to the Online TOC