{The Family Two-shoes}
by halifax

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
Her husband’s left boot on her foot
makes his lead-steps before their children still.

The right one is on her eldest son.
He followed close behind to watch
Her steps, match the stride, and
In his father’s voice
Intone the calling song.

He stands as tall behind her now
on the leather he traded
to stay on. The other shoe
And any crusts are his.

So many children she didn’t know.

What to do but keep the path
to each house the vagrant father kept.

On the morning scraps she lived.
Some nights ducking quickly
outside the unwelcome house
to whom
she’d been a piteous threat.

Other husband’s wives fret
and feed the habited footfalls.
Blushing in their slops of
power lent
She treated her barefoot children
To their broth remainder
And put them all to bed.