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Michelle Duer

            Michelle Duer

   I'm thankful for and spoiled by keyboards. Otherwise, I don't think I would write much. My hand cramps.

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Please Take Off Your Shoes

Please take off your shoes. 
I don't know what streets
you tread and drag into my home.
What gum you stamped
or spit you squished.
What shit may be encrusted
between the crevices
of those soles. 
Please, take off your shoes. 
Did you not notice the heap of shoes
at the front door?  Because I noticed
that your dirty-ass shoes left prints
down the entirety of my hallway carpet
to the bathroom I kindly let you use. 
Take off your damn shoes. 
And please don't shake your head
in negative condescension,
bitch and groan as if I'm breaking your back
when you reluctantly untie your sneakers
and reveal your holed socks. 
Yes, I prefer your stinky feet,
Believe it or not.
Because this is my home you're treading in.
My culture you are ignorantly patronizing
when you continue walking
on top of my nice clean carpet
after I've kindly asked you to,
"Please, take off your shoes."
Because I guarantee your disrespect,
condescension, and utter lack of listening skills
will come to no good.
I will gently turn your ass around
and kick you out the fucking door.

So,
please,
take off your shoes.