|
Loose-Lace Shoes
Here's what happened on my way home
Not half an hour ago: the laces came undone
On one of my shoes - the right one -
I could hear them ticking, their ends
Flicking on the pavement,
I saw them arcing
With each step, bobbing, cartwheeling.
I should've stopped to pull them tight
And thread a bow and maybe fasten
The bow upon itself to make sure -
But out of laziness, or not wanting to
Break my flow or make an obstacle
In the path of others, or for whatever reason,
I kept on walking and added an extra
Dimension to a familiar walk
For my right foot felt freer and freer,
As if it was easing itself into another life
As if it was a bare foot sinking into a beach somewhere
Or an Indian tracker's on a wild trail -
Though as it was only the right foot
I was only halfway there - but still.
I paused at a crossing's light, a lady
Nodded her head down: "Your shoelace..."
"Oh" feigning astonishment as if one
Mortified by going into the street half-shod,
I bent to the lace, tied it up. Now
I felt the tightness of the shoe, I felt myself like the shoe
All strait-laced and sensible now, dusty and dull.
Just like anyone-else on the street that day,
Or rather, now, not like someone.
So when your shoelaces next spring loose
Let them stay that way for a while.
Be the only shoelace-loose stranger
On the street that day and if someone
Points out "Your lace is undone..."
Don't bend down,
Look them straight and say: "No, really, you don't say",
And go on walking all the way to where you're headed
Feeling free, open to unaccustomed thoughts.
Write me about them. You know what, you and I,
We could start a trend.
 Listen
|
