DIDN'T I GO SHOPPING?

Stephanie Young

I don’t know. Relentless buyers
remorse in advance. Tall calfskin boots
assault a mid-calf boot.
Boots in a pyramid.
Via Spiga!
I despise you!
Sounds like
square shaped things
breaking in the house next door.
But a perfect boot
keeps me coming.
What I think are dishes down the stairs
are pots from a dollar store.
Glass above the bed. Imagine.
The small oak bookshelf
mounted above my first bed
never fell while I slept.
When I left, there were places where the cork
still clung to the wall it had been glued to.
They looked like eyes.
I think I don’t have to come out with it,
but I’m guilty. The wounded woman in my dream
resists in order to vomit up her spinal system.
Then the cradle of her pelvic floor.
She’s always in position, an x-ray
shaped like a greyhound.
Ready to go forward.
The house next door gets closer.
Not that today is ruined
but going around boots
has ruined me. Understand,
there’s a miniature boot on a keychain
pointed at my head.
Just keep walking.
She grins for a minute
to show the shape of nothing inside.