Laurence Overmire - Old Shoes

Old shoes
Broken-soled brothers
Have seen happier days
I remember when I bought them
My young hands pulled the laces tight
I looked smart in those shoes
Dancing with the girls on a hot summer night
Smoking cigarettes in the gloom
Waiting for a dream to slip into the back seat
Of a ’57 Chevy.

Ah, but
Old shoes
Don’t last long
And old feet grow tired
From all the walking.
There comes a time
When both must part
An ignominious end
In some forgotten field
Covered with pungent earth
Discarded debris.


(Previously published in Some Words: A Place For Poetry, Feb.2000)

Laurence Overmire

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