My new shoes

My New Shoes

My new shoes are not worn.

You wouldn’t count a few steps around the kitchen bar on tiles.

The laces are not tied.

and yet these Eccos fit, all toes report.

The sole of that right foot looks eager to move off,

an engine with fuel in its tank.

This left foot craves to be admired and cries aloud

“Look here, unspoiled, a sight behold.”

To move or not to move?

To stay or not to stay?

You never hear the sun afraid to rise.

I bought them black, like onyx,

trusting they’d protect me

from puddles of muddy water

and stem the drain of life

as I grew older.

Let them turn charcoal

as I roam the fields and riverbanks

where blackbird sing.

I shall admire both right and left,

and tie these laces loose

until evening sets

beyond that mountain there.