A huge shoe mounts up from the horizon,
Squealing and grinding forward on small wheels,
Even as a man sitting to breakfast on his veranda
Is suddenly engulfed in a great shadow, almost
The size of the night. . .
He looks up and sees a huge shoe
Ponderously mounting out of the earth.
Up in the unlaced ankle-part an old woman
Stands at a helm behind the great tongue curled
Forward; the thick laces dragging like ships’ rope
On the ground as the huge thing squeals and
Grinds forward; children everywhere, they look
From the shoelace holes, they crowd about the
Old woman, even as she pilots this huge shoe
Over the earth. . .
Soon the huge shoe is descending the
Opposite horizon, a monstrous snail squealing
And grinding into the earth. . .
The man turns to his breakfast again, but sees
It’s been wounded, the yolk of one of his eggs is
Bleeding. . .