The Wounded Breakfast Poem by Russell Edson

A huge shoe mounts up from the horizon,
squealing and grinding forward on small wheels,
even as a man sitting to breakfast on his veranda
is suddenly engulfed in a great shadow, almost
the size of the night . . .
He looks up and sees a huge shoe
ponderously mounting out of the earth.
Up in the unlaced ankle-part an old woman
stands at a helm behind the great tongue curled
forward; the thick laces dragging like ships' rope
on the ground as the huge thing squeals and
grinds forward; children everywhere, they look
from the shoelace holes, they crowd about the
old woman, even as she pilots this huge shoe
over the earth . . .

Soon the huge shoe is descending the
opposite horizon, a monstrous snail squealing
and grinding into the earth . . .

The man turns to his breakfast again, but sees
it's been wounded, the yolk of one of his eggs is
bleeding . . .