Clean shoes with a dirty swagger
Done with the drink the love and anger,
These night walks ache his teeth.
Holey shoes all filled with water
Rests at home, too cold to bother
The gas bill always made her weep.
The books stand up on the shelf,
Locked doors to somewhere else,
But no one's knocking.
Clean shoes knows however:
His lady's toes will no longer patter.
Now, Blue and pruned and soap scum dry.
Headed south for salvation,
But sidewalk cracks spell damnation,
For the bathroom wall will not lie.
The doorknobs lay on the floor,
Keys mixed up in dark wood drawers.
Go in and read them.
There, written in a shaken hand
Last words, brief and bland:
"Love, Shirleena"