In winter, he crawled from the pantry with the boot

She stuffed the boot with small and pungent

      pine cones.

He scorched the boot on the hearth.

She rubbed oil into the boot for hours, using the flag

      of a former republic.

The boot was pliable as a collard leaf.

He hid the cleaned boot under her pillow.

She wanted to see how far she could throw the boot.

He showed her the newspaper article whereby

      the boot…

She hung the boot upside-down in the doorway.

He pulled a rabbit out of the boot.

Deep into the toe of the boot she pressed, wrapped in

      cheesecloth, a turkey heart.

He presented the boot at dawn filled with sugar.

She belted the boot to her waist before she marched

      in the parade.

He saluted the boot.

The boot smelled ripe.

She buried the boot in hay and sand.

Many days and nights, not the boot.

Lost boot.

A reputed boot in another county wasn't the boot.

Spring.

Summer.

In the fall, he crawled from the pantry

      with a boot in his mouth.

She pretended this boot was the boot.