Beneath crossroads red light sat boot—stark, worn
Crawling traffic stops and goes, then movement stalls
Viewers gawk, drivers smirk, blissful blow horn
Questions rise: Why boot’s visage appalls?
How did boot get there? From sky did it drop?
Where’s old boot’s match? Why’s there no pair?
Was someone in hurry? No time to stop?
Walked out on footwear? Forget? Didn’t they care?
Was lover’s spat culprit for lone tossed shoe?
How did single boot take wild footloose flight?
Hot words exchanged? Exactly what did ensue?
Light’s green. Drivers decide: Go left or Go right?
Front car makes U-turn—reverses her route.
Drives to crossroads; sets stilettos with boot.
-JOE COBB CRAWFORD
The Poetry Company