Old Shoes

June 9 2020

On a vacant lot

on a busy corner

a pair of shoes caught my eye.

As if someone had stepped out of them

mid-stride,

walking off in stocking feet

cool and unconfined.

Old sneakers,

uppers faded

worn laces

dangling in the dirt.

In an open field

of stony soil

and long weedy grass,

along with broken bottles

balding tires

scattered mounds of trash.

Where who knows what

lurks beneath

the overgrown surface?

Orphaned shoes, awaiting their owner;

like an eager puppy

abandoned at the shelter,

wet nose

pressed against the bars

pink tongue panting.

But who wants cast-offs

or athlete's foot?

And who knows

how long they've been standing there,

ready to walk off

and once more be of use.

So there they remain

firmly planted in place,

as if, without missing a step

someone might come along

slip them on

and take them home again.

How unlike

our sentimental keepsakes.

Unlike the stuff we're sure

will be of use some day,

and all that random clutter

gathering dust

we swear we'll get around to.

While old shoes,

like cruel jokes

and heavy loads

and lost or broken promises,

are so easily disposed of.

Like the false hopes

told-ya-sos

and grudges you held on to.

Like old enemies

old certainties

the old, infirm, and elderly

we too easily let go of.

Who have lots of wear

still left in them.

Who also need to be needed

and made of use again.