I have this crab that lives in my shoe.
It only comes out on Tuesdays.
You’d think I’d have a limp, but I don’t.
The crab does.
I call him Tony, but his real name is Kurt.
He has the words “BOIL ME” written on his favorite T-shirt.
I can hear him at night, working away in my shoe.
Doing that thing that only shoe crabs can do.
Computer programming.
He has no political status, but still likes to vote.
“Vote lobster” he shouts, as he passes out notes.
To look at this crab you’d think he was kid.
He’s 37 in June.
There’s plenty of room inside of my shoes.
I once housed a Gnu and a handful of Shrews.
But now I have Tony or Kurt to his mum.
It’s better than driving a fork into my liver.
The day will soon come, as it did for the Shrews.
And my shoe will be empty, except for my toes.
I’ll sit in the park, turn up the stereo and kick off my shoes.
Mmm… crab for dinner.
Nick of Time