Free Range Poetry
20Nov/11

shoes, new, in box

I stand alive, staring at these Mezlan 'Opera' Oxfords,
With soles that have yet to touch the ground. 
My eyes are fascinated with the eyelets, five-a-side,
Staring seemingly back as I stand looking into the box. 

This quiet patent finish is perfect, without flaw or marring of any sort,
Leather the way to go, shiny, silk lining on the inside,
Very expensive, stylishly understated, and the tongue is never loose.
This is the perfect finish, a metaphor.

The fit is almost custom, and customs are important – you taught me that. 
I wish I could show you these shoes, in whose leather shine
I see only the reflection of myself,
Frowning back at my beguiled countenance. 

The obligatory shoes I purchased for this customary walk
Pinch as I shift my weight, a reminder:
I may wear their like, but
I will never fill those shoes.

 

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