SHOE 

I'd have trashed the shoe and forgotten it 
but the dog fell in love. 
He brings it to me for a tug-of-war 
and we pull back and forth, 
fingers and fangs holding onto the body 
for possession. The seams grow wider, 
the leather more tattered. 

Only the dog wants it now 
but he wants it so fiercely he rips the sole 
from its stitches, the tongue 
from the gaping mouth. 
He shakes the shapeless lump back to life; 
laces dance like crazed skeletons. 
He chews on the worn-down heel, 
licks the residue of the ground 
I've walked. He burrows for the foot 
that used to slide easily in 
and wearily out. Traces of shine 
peek through before the dust settles back. 

The dog's resting now and the shoe 
looks like the shoe in photos 
of murders and bombings, the lonely one 
lying in rubble, one of the victims; 
yet somehow, oh miracle of the craftsman 
who cobbled it into a masterpiece 
and the clerk who praised it into a sale 
and the dog who has stripped it to its essence 
the shoe holds; it endures.

© 2003 Sherman Pearl


TOUCH-UP 

hints of rouge and whispers of mascara 
lipstick licked on to suggest 
the shimmer of passion under the gloss 

I know you don't mean to deceive anyone 
you're you only enhanced a bit 
even beauty needs a boost now and then 

take the universe for example 
how science applies art and cosmetics 
to retouch photos of the unfathomable 

cosmos so distant they're close 
to the beginning of everything 
yet seem dull as dust till they're depicted 

as billow of phantasmagoria 
as though everything weren't enough 
as though I can't see you through the makeup. 

© 2003 Sherman Pearl