Pink Slippers

Foul feet
and white fur—
stained in dark-grey colors.
His tiny beady eyes
stare at the empty, quiet
space of my living room
as his rounded ears
hear the ticking of
the kitchen wall clock
and sniffs even his own foul-stench
that he gives me the “when are you
going to wash me?” look.
I come home
and trade my dirty old sneakers
for a pair of
little pig slippers.

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