your one yellow shoe
under the bed,
the dog has had his way
with it.
it was your
Sunday, go to church
heel,
though we seldom
did.
i still remember
you leaving
on Monday morning,
barefoot in the parking
lot,
carrying the other heel
under your arm.
the bright yellow
italian leather shiny
in the morning sun,
then tossing
it into the woods
before you got into your
car.
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