Dark cake and a pair of shoes
On the grave outskirts of Saint James’s Park, just outside the gates, in fact,
On a grey paving slab, quiet clean, but
For the crumbs and smear, like dog shit,
In its roadside homelessness, nowhere
The sweet kitchen that supported it, we presume, before it got led astray, wandered from the safety of the
Picnic blanket, perhaps taken by these shoes..
But they lost their way, neither shoe can tell tales to passing
Strangers now, both are mute.
Was she Happy when she left?
We can only guess and hope she got some new shoes