The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe (Poetry)

There was an old woman
who lived in a shoe —
a great leather boot
that the local giant threw
in the recycling.
She found it in there
and converted it into
a smart pied-à-terre.

At first it was perfect
(although home-wise petite)
once scrubbed free of the smell
of the giant’s whiffy feet.
Then she fostered an orphan —
a boy of just four
and they got on so well
that she ordered ten more.

Now it was quite a squeeze
while the children were small
but they grew up so fast —
some grew plump, others tall —
and soon like sardines
they were squashed wall to wall
with no room to move
in the attic or hall.

Then man from the council
(with clipboard) came round
shook his head, ticked some boxes
and measured the ground.
He tutted and muttered
his features so grim
that puppies and kittens
were frightened of him.

“This shoe’s overcrowded —
you’re breaking the law!
Are these all the kids
you claim benefit for?
It must be reported —
this cannot go on.”
He gave her a copy
and then he was gone.

Well... The old woman wept —
she was close to despair
and her children cried, too —
their loud wails filled the air
and they woke up the giant
who then started to shout
and demand what the dickens
the fuss was about.

She explained to the big guy
his old boot that she took
was now home to her children
so he knelt down to look
just how she had furnished
and fitted it out.
That he seemed quite impressed
there was really no doubt.

“Amazing!” he boomed
standing terribly tall
“And what with the shortage
of housing, and all...
I’ll dig out the other one
then you’ll have a pair
and that bloke from the council
can take it from there!”

The giant was big-hearted
and good as his word
bringing several pairs extra
though some were absurd
and really unsuitable —
slippers for one
and grubby white trainers
with laces undone.

The old woman thanked him.
She picked out the best
and tactfully told him
she’d stockpile the rest
in case of emergencies —
more mouths to feed
meanwhile they were grateful
for such a kind deed.

It was fouteen days later
the council chap came —
dead officious in nature
his message the same.
But he almost fell over
such was his surprise —
a small village of footwear
now greeted his eyes.

First he stuttered and shook
like he had some condition
then demanded to know if
she’d planning permission
for twenty-odd dwellings
of unusual appearance
for if not he’d be seeking
an order for clearance.

The giant, who’d been lurking
gave him a stern lecture
on finance, ecology
and architecture —
the last being merely
a question of taste.
Then the man from the council
departed posthaste

and he never came back
for the clipboard (or pen)
that he’d dropped in his hurry —
abandoning them.
For he’d promised the giant
as he made for the door
that the matter was closed
and he’d meddle no more.

So, the story ends well. For
from that day to this
the old woman and kids
live in trouble-free bliss.
Their quaint village a footnote
to innovation’s success
and the giant (with rare wit)
named it SHOE-MERRY-NESS*



* As in the well-known saying “The more (shoes) the merrier” Over
many,many generations the village grew into a town. That town
subsequently appeared on maps of the area, the name slowly changing
as it was sometimes copied wrongly by shortsighted cartographers.
Thus it eventually became known as Shoeburyness — a town in Essex.