Those Lost Galoshes

If I’d had a thousand soiled doilies
on my front stoop at any time
during the tirade of lost galoshes,
I could have cashed in, gotten me
an early retirement.

But what did I do instead?
I picked soiled tea cozies.
Now I’m broke, and those
lost galoshes ain’t
never coming back. Jack.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children. View all posts by Aidan Badinger