Shoe-Shopping

[operadiva]

My Ragged shoes are past their expiration date,
and quickly becoming an embarrassment.
 
Nothing more than a bag full of trash
whose seams give out just as you reach the trash bin.
Sadistically spewing rotten garbage from a soiled mouth,
leaving an odorous haze as my insides are scraped off the pavement.
 
beaten and battered.
but the shoes next to me,
polished and new.
 
Light bounces off of them like a disco ball
speaking with each step, ‘tip-tap tip-tap’
 
Suddenly, I’m a new man;
a showman.
 
But, I become nothing more than a twisted ankle dangling below
a bum knee, barely mobile, but unnervingly frantic.
Constantly counting to eight, not knowing how to
save a dying art from the onslaught of heavy-set linebackers.
 
squeaky and suffocating,
but the shoes next to me
modest and comfy.
 
Warmth seemingly radiates from their very soles.
the comfort they offer draws me in like warm cup of  tea.
 
Suddenly, I’m a different person;
easy-going.
 
But, I become nothing more than a sloth inching closer to
leaves on a distant tree, and further from the solid ground below.
Hungry for nothing but the passing of time and the generous
hand of another to give me just enough to meet tomorrow’s afternoon.
 
cushy and coddling,
but I know it can’t last,
stagnant and complacent.
 
I’ve found soup too cold, too hot, but not just right.
but the patch of grass next to me looks lush and vivid.
 
Barefoot, blades of grass reach up and tickle my feet.
Barefoot, twigs startle me, and the ants great my feet.
Just right.