The Cold Spot

At night I reach over to your side of the bed - that cold spot with its frozen memories. The warmth of my hand brings them out of their icy suspension. I can almost feel your nipple growing hard between my fingers. Thawed memories and maybe flawed memories begin to mix in with my body's involuntary muscle twitches and my random mental twitches - until your side of the bed freezes up again.

This poem was originally published at http://www.qarrtsiluni.com
There is a link to it at the right side of this page.

But the Shoe Remains

On fat streets.
On skinny streets.
On dirt roads.
On gravel roads
On two lane highways.
On four lane freeways.
Abandoned shoes are everywhere.

They are usually just lying there.
On the edges of travel.
Usually just one shoe.
I have seen wingtip shoes with no executive attached.
Engineer boots with no biker.
Cowboy boots with no cowboy.
Sneakers with no athlete.
All kinds of shoes with nobody in them.
Almost always old and dirty,
with the toes curled up from use.

I know that you have seen them, too.
Everybody sees them.
Have you ever looked inside an old abandoned shoe?
I do not have the courage to do it.
I am afraid that I will see
the bloody top of an ankle or foot.

There are lots of good reasons
that a shoe might be alone.
It got thrown away.
It was accidentally dropped there.
There could be lots of good reasons.

There could be lots of bad reasons
that a shoe might be alone.
There was an accident and the clean-up crew left it behind.
Someone had their foot chopped off with the shoe still on and then the shoe was thrown from the car.
There could be lots of bad reasons.

The abandoned shoes that most concern me,
are the ones by the railroad tracks.
There is always the possibility that someone was walking by the tracks and fell or was pushed under a moving train and their foot was severed.

I never look inside.

But the shoe remains.