Shoes In The Closet

Two by two

In that shadowed secret place way in the back

With the magic door.

Black and white wingtips.

Dressed in a starlit glamor of pave rings, a live orchestra, the dancers,

Reflections glimmering on the floor.

Thunderstorm grey rubber galoshes.

Menacing somehow, like an elephant foot umbrella stand.

Two pairs of trainers. Both white.

Faithfully worn on alternate days to even out the wear

And laundered once a week. No bleach.

One pair of Egyptian leather sandals.

Soles replaced, new straps that don’t quite match,

Scented with attar of roses.

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