The poet thought: ah, I have enough trash! <br />The whores, the theater, and the moon in the city, <br />The dress-shirts, the streets, and smells, <br />The nights and the coaches and the windows, <br />The laughter, the street-lights and murders-- <br />I'm really fed up now with all the crap, <br />Damn it! <br />Whatever will be will be--it's all the same to me: <br />The patent leather shoe Hurts me. And I take it off-- <br />People might turn around, surprised. <br />Only it's a shame about my silk socks...<br /><br />Alfred Lichtenstein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-patent-leather-shoe/
