In winter, he crawled from the pantry with the boot
      in his teeth.
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.
In the fall, he crawled from the pantry
      with a boot in his mouth.
She pretended this boot was the boot.