her orange shoes

seemed so utterly out of place
in the inescapable february gray.
caught helplessly
between the end of football season and
the advent of march madness,
punctuated by Hallmark's reminder
that, for at least one day,
the gift card industry can make
eight out of ten americans miserable,
the second page makes me shudder—
but also makes me
THANK GOD FOR THE CALENDAR.
it's square boxes confine it to only four rows of
waist-deep, slate-toned slush to trudge through.
i need the divisive power,
lest the evils ooze on into infinity.
i also need her orange shoes.
she can keep them, but
i need her to have them.
they weren't even crocs.