Shoes Poem by Cynthia Rylant

When he finally died, they kept

them around the house

the longest time,

tripping on them,

arranging them beneath the beds,

occasionally borrowing them

in bad weather.

Then the preacher told them

it was a sacrilege to the dead,

moving those shoes around

like a couple of mop buckets.

So they left them out at the cemetery one day,

and of course the shoes promptly disappeared.

It was impossible for them, after that,

to keep from looking down at the feet of every

person who crossed their path.

And this would have gone on probably forever

had not one of his hats

turned up

way in the back of the closet.