My Shoes Are In Love

Although I’ve never seen them kiss.
But whenever I collected them from your hallway

they always looked so sad at my return.
(It always took ages to unpick their laces.)

“Hey,” they would say. “Hey, lets go to an expensive sushi restaurant,
or a mosque! Let’s go round to Michaels house!”

Michael, with his ambitious new white carpets.
I knew they were just trying to get rid of me.

Occasionally, I would scuff them
to remind them who’s boss.

Once, in a hotel, I kicked them off into separate corners
Both of them landing on their heads for the loneliest night of their life.

Because of the way I walk, one aged faster than the other.
I sealed up his slathering mouth with superglue

Re-inked him with biro when the other wasn’t looking,
then took them both bowling as a special treat.

And then I left them there, walked out in my bowling shoes,
Pinching at my toes all the way home.

Sometimes I think about my trainers and their love
that I had no use for.

I flick through blurry photos of them, all taken accidentally.
Caught off guard, looking away from one another

Secure in the knowledge that I will always be there
To hold them both together.

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