Faithful shoe-strings hang patiently off the tongue
waiting for me to step on them so they can
worship the ground I walk on.
scrounging all of the pennies off of the sidewalk to
bye a modest thought of making a living when all along I'm living
just to keep walking.
But still the strings stalk me as though my feet promised
a promise land of Adidas
when all I can afford are Pay-less sneakers.
Weighing my options on a scale teetering on the side of
"You're never going to be anything but meager!"
making a hissing noise as I step off
and the rusted scale squeaks even.
Meek shoe strings sleeping against my ankles, dreaming of loafers
when they know damn well they will never know them.
Yet still they press on as if nothing's wrong , pore fibers
poking out at their plastic ends like a flower blooming
and flopping as I strut along. Dragging them through the grains of dirt,
seeping in sloppy slabs of hot mud out of Egypt across that sinking sea floor,
struggling to breath beneath me as we hustle to reach shore.
I feel more Pharaoh then staff-wielding hero,
but still they latch on to me with resolve even as the bog of nothingness
draws nearer. Why? Why me untangled threads so wild?
Why scrape the roads beside me with a tempered smile? No reply,
they just nestle beneath my soles and cry, then come back up
with red lined, open eyes. Dragging along, skipping about on the dew
powdered lawn; my faithful shoe-strings, together we move feet.
Together.
