The Case of the Misplaced Shoe

I had just settled down for a nice little nap
On my commodious couch before afternoon tea
When Raymond burst through in an extraordinary flap
And upset my prescribed-for-detectives routine.

“What has possessed you, foul fiend that you are,
To intrude in this ill-mannered way?” I raged.
My minion quaked and shook with fear, okay, laughter,
“A nap or a loaded client? You decide, great sage!”

Donning my coat, I consoled myself with the sight
Of what would surely be the winning entry
At the horticulture club’s contest tonight
For the most original planter for an indoor fig tree.

My wealthy client came in barefooted, a miserly man indeed!
He sputtered out a story about his lost shoe in the park;
“So? There are thousands of shoe stores! Get another,” I decreed.
“But this size is handmade,” he protested,  “by DuStarc!”

The French name rang a bell, though my mind was in a spin
When I glanced at his gargantuan feet fit for someone twice his size.
He grumbled and he whined, then he held up the shoe’s twin
And down the tubes went my dreams of the horticulture club prize.

Daily Post Prompt: Misplaced

Author: Dora

The unearned splendor of being means we can always meet on a common plane of gratitude, aiming in conversation, art, or writing towards “something understood.” View all posts by Dora