Black and Red Shoe on the Road

To live by the side of a road
Closed at one end, down which no one

But a fool would point a car’s nose,
Spur down which the mail does not post,

That would be just the kind of life
This fool would like to boast. No one

To watch out for, no work to do.
Yes, it’s not worth a thing, this life.

Who asked you? What comes to pass here,
With the skunks and the deer, is weird.

There’s the day the ground groans and booms
But does not move. There’s the way wind

Fills the ears with the thought of air.
There’s the shoe shows up on the road.