Auden's Slippers Poem by robert dickerson

Richly stained with wine and gin
We are Auden's slippers
Ashes crumble on our toes
And sometimes something viscid

Splatters here. No small feat
Covering the corns of the great
Running around, all over town
Taking those awful trains!

Si, we'll survive the Master
Poets seldom do survive their shoes,
And wind up in the trash, or
Worse, in some museum

(Once he stared for minutes at
Voltaire's pretty nightcap)
That was in Detroit, I think-
I'll ask the other chap.

Criticize him if you dare
But I won't hear a word against him
There were plenty of times he kicked us off
And walked barefoot about the house.