Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

The Red Shoes

I’ve recently been in hospital for a major and life-altering operation; fetching gown, no? I came out of the anaesthetic. I wrote this on my phone, almost immediately. I have no recollection of doing so; I wasn’t compos mentis for several hours and after a good sleep. I remember the reasons for it though. Naturally, pre-op, I was very nervous but took massive comfort in the mundane chatter of the splendid crew that performed my procedure. If they weren’t worried, why should I be? The last thing I heard – or thought I heard – was one of the nurses talking about her shopping…

The Red Shoes

An organ misses
it's cue, speeding 

notes to push 
the wheezes 

and groans 
away at last.

Silent quivering 
at the enormity

means little 
to the experienced

and as I tremble -
in the seconds 

before my head 
is swamped

by chemical haar -
I hear a voice -

indifferent - ask 
in shrinking

echoed tones
“Do you like 

my new 
red shoes?”


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