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The Shoe Store

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Oh you sorrowful sneakers
Sitting on a shelf
Amongst mountains of mismatched
Mazes of laces
Plastic platform shoes
Peer out from the shadows
Glaring at girls and boys
Lost soles disguised as gifts
“Try me on,” they tantalize
Leering at tremulous toddlers
You quintessential pickpockets of precious
Pennies and wasted time
Shopping carts shoving through
Mobs of rushing people
Not noticing the madness
Of the need for the second feet
And still the sneakers
Sit silently forgotten
Once valuable vagabonds



Their laces leading a vagrant trail back to the closet
Shoes of fickle fashion
Their colors fading fast through the years
Closets conceal the memories
Of these cunning characters
Memories of many days
Messages in their folded up tongues
In the silent store
The Sunday sale has come and gone
An odious odor
Has filled the open room
For me it reeks of regret
Repercussions of purchases once made
Walking down worn carpet
Shelved walls on the narrow sides
Stopping at a certain section
Making a hasty selection of sorts
Pulling down the poisoned sneakers
Prying apart the tongue from its safety
Tying together the tainted
Terrible excuse for a shoe
Holding my head high leaving behind
The haze and heading home



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