An Introspective On My Shoes

who knows!?

A three-year-old wise man

Once told me:

Our lives are like

Our shoes.

Now this—

This makes sense

            But only when you say that it does:

It is deep

            But only when you are searching for

Deep.

This boy had on

No shoes

When he told me this.

 

But ignoring that fact—

His bare feet—

I will explore his idea.

My favorite shoes are

Well-worn—

Like my life.

They’ve tasted

Concrete

And

Grass

And even

Dog poop—

I’ve never had any of these, so

Something must be wrong.

I got them for Christmas

On a bribe.

The laces are turning to shreds now:

In need of replacement.

And the rubber is pealing

Off the soul.

So what does that say about

            My life?

 

I guess

It says

This poem is

Going

            Nowhere.