Kate Peper

It starts with one disgruntled sandal
who spreads rumors to the quieter pumps.
By the time I get to the closet,
the shoe rack is toppled.
Rumbling spreads up pant legs,
skirts sizzle with anger.

I don't begin to panic
until the bed throws pillows.
I stumble into the living room eyeing the futon:
Are its chenille cushions
merely a sinister trap?
Flashlights zap me with their high beams:
We're tired of being steadfast,
left holding our breath
in some cramped corner or drawer.

T-shirts, tied end to end,
shimmy out the window.
Shoes have already leaped to their freedom --
sandals flash like pennies in the vanguard
while stilettos titter in the rear.

My favorite sombrero charges me;
I whirl into the kitchen
wedge the still docile dinette
under the doorknob.
The small rug is tense
but the flatware looks somber,
the bone china not yet chattering
in its cabinet.
I press my ear to the door,
hear paintings snap off hooks,
carpet rip out staples.

I wonder how far they'll get tonight?
Maybe they'll hitchhike
to an overgrown field.
Couch kicks back with pumps
dangling off each arm.
Nylons dip toes in a stream;
the torchiere cranes its neck,
sees stars for the first time.

© Kate Peper

Kate Peper is an animator/poet living in Fairfax, CA. She was inspired to write this poem after coming back from a long trip and seeing all her things where she had left them and wondered, What if they got sick of staying put and mutinied? What would their life be like if they went "feral"?

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