Her wardrobe was perfectly arranged
Clothes precisely by colour and type
Material shape size and season
Crisp fresh and so lovingly laundered
At the bottom shoes ascended in
A triumph of organisation.
From lowly sensible flats
Up to dizzying high heels
Fine delicate straps neatly
Clasped, sandals mules courts and T’s
In dazzling symmetry
I threw my clothes down to the floor.
Maggie Doyle and I have both written poems about shoes. At the last but one PP, Amanda Bonnick read a poem about shoes, and I jokingly suggested that we should compile an anthology of shoe poetry. The second stanza of this would definitely go. I love the last line. I don't really enjoy "Oh, clearly there's going to be a punchline" poems, but this one came out of the blue and is very funny. And completely authentic.
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