When I was barely twenty-one, I saw a pair of shoes
– I wanted them
These were not your Thom McAn’s, they had a hip and stylish flare
My Mother clicked her tongue and said, the price was way too high
What did she know. I smiled, held out my foot. The shoes were mine.
To tell the truth, they didn’t fit, a bit too rough around the edges
but everything needs a breaking in and I would give them time
but time went on, and it was my feet that did the changing
thick calluses on both my heels, a bunion on my big toe.
But I made the best of feet and shoes, and time moved on
There is a price to pay for walking off the paved road
The shoes got run down at the heels, the leather badly scuffed and torn
I did my best to care for them, but shoes will be shoes and
time moved on.
One night when I was barely fifty-five
I looked at the shoes, and at my cracked and knobby feet
I thought, perhaps, the time has come to get de-shod
I pondered on this a bit, then carefully set the shoes beside the bed
and barefoot, I
walked out the door.
Today’s prompt was to write a poem with 14 syllables – 7 iambic feet – in each line. Some of these lines are 14, some not, but this is something I’ve had kicking around in my head for a while and this seemed like the right form.