Walking Without Shoes

I've been reduced to walking without shoes,
But I still have my short-sleeved shirt, my pants,
And half a leather belt. My precious rants
Did not impress her, and the Irish booze
Just made things worse. I asked her to peruse
The speeches which earned me those genius grants,
But she said she would rather feed the plants
By squeezing paper towels to make them ooze.

I offered her a kiss, but she said No,
And then I showed her my enormous feet,
Which caused her to inform me, then repeat
That nothing pleased her less than my big toe,
Except perhaps the other toes. "Please go,"
She whispered, which is why I'm on the street.