Memoir of my Nikes

 



The world can be seen
through these shoes,
all the seasons , lions, lambs
and the soft plush of meadows,
feel lukewarm on the way out.

They’ve lived miles,
lived years,
and show nothing
but the grizzled appearance
of time and rough going.

Where the sidewalk ceases
and the crosswalk begins,
that is where I’ll say farewell,
string them up, and retire
these laces with no ill will.