Shoes, a Narrative

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

The life of my shoes, narrated by my shoes.

It was not long that I stood

At my gallant post at Dillard’s,

For along came a boy who coveted me as he should.

Thus I did bid my dear store “Farewell,”

But not with so little words.

 

Hence I bequeathed my throne,

Was mournfully lowered into a box,

Savagely forced to forfeit that which was my own,

And driven out of sight of my abode,

My only comfort, socks.

 

Now I abide upon the sole

Of that well dressed, tall boy from before.

But at least my life is wonderfully dull

On the foot of this new master,

Who is boring to the core.

 

Some woeful news you should know:

Though my home is unusually neat,

And at times blessedly calm, always in tow

Is my academic life,

Where a cold, hideous floor is all I eat

 

But as doleful as that may be,

I must report but graver sorrow,

My mother has abandoned me,

Leaving me doomed to never again,

That squeaking sound of leather, know

 

So at night, when surrounded by things unknown,

In that sleepless bedroom,

I know myself destined to be alone.

And despairing, I look toward my carpeted floor,

Forgetting all but this dark tomb.


Submitted: August 10, 2008

© Copyright 2021 John Westley. All rights reserved.

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