made for walking

i’ve saved all my old shoes. each

pair has a story to tell. some with

worn out soles. my socks would

stay wet all day if i wore them in

the rain. others i never wore except

for funerals and weddings. my feet

have been a size ten and a half since i

was a boy. if my shoes could talk,

they’d share a million miles of

memories. i can’t forget david, he

had polio and always wore one shoe

bigger than the other. i like seeing

him in his underwear even when he

told me not to look. i wore tennis

shoes when i first humped my girl

friend’s leg. i never learned how to play

tennis. arthur ashe wore adidas. i’m

not sure when i got my first nikes.

probably when i started sucking

dick. decades later i’m wearing vans,

usually black or white ones. i heard of

a 14 year old boy being murdered

over some high-end sneakers. i

never murdered anyone. when my

number is called, don’t bury me with

my boots on, bury me in a nice pair of

vans. chukka boots held me upright

when i was drunk. i’d sway back and

forth like waves in a hurricane but

i always made it home safe without

falling on my ass. not sure where my

scars come from. stoners wore

chukka boots. they cost the same as

an ounce of good weed. i never had

cowboy boots. i like cowboys. those

with a pair of nice boots, a nice hat,

and hung like a horse. i’ve walked

through some deep muddy waters. i

use old english oil for a good shine.


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