After a year,
I put your black shoes out
for the re-cycler
Two pairs
Our walks go with them,
our days out,
our journeys
In the red casket of the bin
they wait as if for you,
but you're as far away as Dad,
whose new widow
keeps his suede brogues
on guard in the glass porch
to scare off intruders
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem