House Rules
Sept 10 2023
The shoes are neatly paired,
lined up
like regimental soldiers
by the front door.
They are a still life painting
of dutiful waiting
as they sit, unlaced, at rest.
Runners, loafers, formal wear,
airing out the sweat
and sour fleshy odour
of tired swollen feet.
Soles
soiled with who-knows-what
from the great outdoors.
And inside
supple leather slippers
padding softly on the floors
keeping feet toasty warm.
They have been trained well,
strictly observing
the house rules.
The rigid separation
of “in” from “out” —
the dark hushed interior
from the cacophonous world;
the dirt and garbage and mess
that might infiltrate
this hermetic space
of calm and contentment.
The vestibule door is closed.
And the dirty shoes
now relieved of duty
are free to take their ease.
A rough crowd
these street-wise shoes,
who have seen it all
from the ground up,
and visibly wear
their world-weary experience.
So who knows what goes on
when they're on their own,
lace braiding
foot races
partner swapping?
Or do they, too, crave peace and quiet?
At rest
on the muddy mat
where they were kicked-off and left,
the stocking feet of their wearers
sighing with relief.
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