MY LONG SUFFERING SHOES

It’s an age old habit,

just kicking them off,

then leaving them where they lie.

Right now in the kitchen

are red driving shoes,

and hiking boots with the laces still tied,

Here by the back door,

sitting askew,

are red, heart- covered, slip- on sneakers.

Out on the front porch,

tough, elastic, trek sandals

worn by all the well known fun seekers.

Completely forgotten,

there by the pantry,

my Roxy fleece lined slides.

Champion tennies,

grey – green slash of neon,

wait, silent,  flipped  on their sides.

It’s true there are two

shoe racks in my closet

holding a dressy, lace heel,

black leather Clark’s,

and my old comfy clogs,

worn simply for the way that they feel.

I have shoe trees to help them

hold that new shoe shape,

if I would simply remember to use them.

And I do!  Then I don’t.

Consistent I am not,

but I do polish all with soft boot creme.

I mean, of course,

those with the all leather uppers

get buffed to a military, high spit shine.

The toes AND the heels (Dad)

and the sides and the tops

all brushed ’til they’re looking real fine.

But shiny or not

I have to admit

I ultimately throw them all hither

at the end of the day

to lie where they lay

as the cares of the day simply wither.

(inspired by the whisky in John Coyote’s “Trying to Lose Your Memory”)

twice transfused

scotch for blood

oblivion for pain

floor for ceiling

at least twice