Favourite Blue Slippers
Climb out of the sliding shindig closet
and I’d lie to you
march like the good chairman’s
red breath mints
of hell
one foot follows the next
corns and blood blisters
and toe jam –
yellow as the pit
stain sun –
right past St. Petey
into the shower stall with
your favourite blue slippers
half on.
Arabian goggles
tight over the eyes
like hairy
binoculars.