Ill-Fated Sneakers

Up and down the coastal ridge on natural tracks,
in and out of a modest gray house countless times,
with me at night, door closed and listening.
Oh, if you could speak, everyone would listen.

Now slit at the heels like the cow cut at the throat
you yearn to be put out of your misery.
Pale and ruffled, your black hide begs for forgiveness.
Bite marks cause the stitching that gave you strength to fall apart.
Accumulating, these episodes add up rendering you useless.

I will remember you.

On your lucky days I plunged my feet into you,
transforming your limp appearance into a lively, yet hypnotic
dance. No more feet will enter your world, your purpose
now fulfilled, like the dull needle that plunged
through your hide, giving you the strength to hold on tight.

You lived a long and purposeful life,
gave birth to an overflow of emotions.
I hold you over the garbage, about to lay you down
in the place where all other goods go that have served
their purpose, where you will lie rotting in the background of our lives,
forgotten physically, but remembered through what we’ve achieved.