THE LONG LIFE OF MY DEAR DEPARTED WORK BOOTS

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