Deposit

The white shoes in the cardboard box

have never touched a floor.

They sit behind the winter socks

and the draft beneath the door.

I found the receipt for the trout,

the chicken, and the wine.

A piece of paper full of doubt

tucked in at line twenty-nine.

I saved a thousand on the hall

and five hundred on the band.

I’m leaning back against the wall

with nothing in my hand.

The price tag's still upon the sole,

a tiny, sticky square.

I’m happy that I’m still a whole,

and not a broken pair.