I’m not the kind to walk boldly,
barefoot. I have tried sidling
through life on stocking feet,
but in the long run it wouldn’t do.
Then I met of a pair of
sensible brown lace-ups.
They mean business and
get things done for me.
As the lace-ups leave for work,
the light-weight, cutting-edge
Gore-Tex hiking boots that live
in the mudroom tap their soles.
Upstairs in the wardrobe
a pair of crimson high heels
are in a sulk. My ballerinas
chatter away companionably.
Sometimes in public places
an enormous pair of shiny black
clown shoes slip over my feet.
People point and laugh; I trip.
I keep away from jackboots.
They might make me march
in step, and to music
I never hope to hear again.
whypoetry 
February 23rd, 2018 at 11:55 am
Reblogged this on Nina.