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Gardening Shoes
by Dan Keeble

Arthur turned up at a house one day,
With a need to supplement his pay.
His meagre pension would not do,
And odd jobs added a bob or two.
She took him into the garden, and said,
“It needs a tidy, there’s tools in the shed.”
She brought him tea and let out a gasp,
That made him drop the spade from his grasp.
“Where did you get those shoes?” she cried out.
They were once her husband’s, without a doubt.
Those brown leather shoes with bright red laces,
Took him to women in too many places.
“From a charity shop,” Arthur replied.
“They said the owner suddenly died.”
She clearly recalled that fateful day,
When once more she caught him playing away.
A few drops of something in his tea,
Put an end to his life quite easily.
She told the neighbours he’d left for good
Then disposed of him the best she could.
Arthur dug and spent many long hours,
Tending to borders, shrubs, and flowers.
She said, “Landscape it all, if you prefer,
But don’t dig close to the conifer.”