Bug-eyed monster in my wardrobe
is howling again beneath the ruffle hems-
murky theater with half-lowered curtain, stage jumbled
with shoes. This little shoe
is Hamlet. This little shoe is Godot. This
little shoe cries all night long-
fiddling a knot in its bow.
The monster is gobbling my shoe,
little loaf-of-bread with rye-seed stitching.
Oh to eat or yes to eat, he croons.
His breath billows my blackest dress,
sail unfurled from the mast of a plague ship.
I can hear the rat gnawing at my heels.
The rat won’t abandon ship.
