These boots were made for walkin’

good shoes
are like a trophy find
for those who
shop the thrifts
but boots are gold
especially when
those suckers rightly fit
i don't know who
wore them before --
they died? their feet were sore?
i wore those boots 'til soles dissolved
then taped and wore them more

certain items find their way
to their rightful home
from hand to hand
(or foot to foot)
they filter through the loam
those boots were mine all they time
they walked a stranger's floor
perhaps they made some arches ache
to end up at my door

and every day i put them on
and thought, "the gods are nice
to send me boots as good as these
at such a friendly price"
and through the years
i, in those boots,
trekked through field and wood
for shoes, like clothes,
can make the man

and those boots just
felt good

then, laces made of hay bale twine
and leather cracked and dry
i felt the earth beneath my feet
and rain that leaked inside
and yet i loved them all the same
they suited me somehow
the wife said
"man, you need some boots"
i said, "more tape for now"

but all things die
its just the way
gods made our world to stand
they fell apart
it broke my heart
to throw them in the can

 
(Hanging them up)
 
Ever since I was    
a new young recruit  
I was excited to wear  
many differing boots  
  
Some boots are rubber  
and some they are leather  
depending on events  
the hazard, or weather  
  
Maybe, pulling them on  
in middle of night  
protecting me (or someone else)  
from high Fahrenheit  
  
Those boots and I  
must go do our duty  
we challenge eachother  
and could both end up sooty  
  
Running up and down  
fires on the hills  
Coughing and sputtering  
in vibrem souled heels  
  
Just every day wear  
With steel in the toe  
or a pair of light rubber  
should swimming we go  
 
On a medical aid
or a lift back to bed
to prevent us from slipping
they must all have good tread
 
"Lacem and chasem"  
as the ole saying goes  
like a quick change artist  
now in safety clothes  
  
I have worn them all  
for now, thirty  years  
That's including the  
Time  that I volunteered  
  
It's been quite an honor  
to wear all of them  
If I had a do over  
I'd do it again  
  
The finish line now  
is so close I can see  
God ,please stay close  
I pray so humbly  
  
And when I step out  
of my last worthy pair  
to those left behind  
your all in my prayers  
  
Right on my heals  
there are excited recruits    
bless all of them
in their safety boots

I am the scratch mark  
on your last layer of paint,  
the stuck-out nail  
your hand snags against.  

The awkward walk  
of a cowboy’s gait,  
the turned away face  
with a glimpse of disgrace.  
 
The hand that covers  
a mouth of despair,  
the pure inhibition  
that lets children stare.  
 
The freak summer wave  
that makes the beach scream,  
the bloated carcass  
as you drink downstream.  
 
So I sit here alone  
and pour out a poem,  
dressed in the way  
that she gets to know him.  
 
Smooth out her dress,  
slip on her high heals  
and remind myself,  
just how good I feel.