This was from a ten-minute writing exercise in class last week, about a pair of shoes......this kind of came out by accident, as we had just been reading some Plath....sorry Sylvia, but it's tribute, not parody. I had the idea of an elderly woman looking at her late husband's dancing shoes........ You do not do, black shoe, You no longer have a place, Lying like some empty beetle carapace, Dusty in the corner of the hall. You do not do, anymore, black shoe, Any of the things that you used to do, The air of the waltz a distant memory, The kisses that followed faded and gone. But I see you, see you, black shoe Yellowed and sepia in a silver surround On the feet that once you knew, shoe, So smiling, full of life and proud. O, he shone you so, black shoe, Like shards of mirror upon his feet, A reflection of those moonbeams, He drew down for me to meet. You're all I have, black shoe, An echo of a fading past, My tangoes lost to infinity My happiness, dissolving fast. You do not do, black shoe, You are missing a vital part, That which has gone, black shoe, And in doing so, torn me apart.