This is me finally finishing a poem that I wrote during NaPoWriMo last year… And I’m still totally not sure if it’s finished, but this is as close as it’s getting for now.
Shoes and Old School Rules
First red makes a move, smooth
But the tiles betray her
- A stately staccato as she slips over
to the door
With that sweet arrhythmic step.
– I’ll call them brogues, though
I’m not really sure
that I know what brogues are – but -
the word seems to fit those soft brown
stitched shoes, silently sliding,
brogueing their way after the red-shod wonder
-An interception –
Brogues are blocked by kitten heels
The smug self-satisfied tread
of one too many bowls of cream
Circling. Stitched shoes slide,
Kitten heels prowl round and
A castanetted click to announce
Boots. Flamenco. Imperiously fronded.
Heels and brogues turn
Caught in social gravity
- Two pairs face one –
(Who knew shoes
Could radiate embarrassment?)
Kitten heels could turn as red
As red, exited left.
My own black trainers
Of a matching pair.
It seems other shoes
Have grown up,
– Grown colour –
Since last we were here
Been outgrown by kitten heels
(still don’t know what they are)
But I do know that boots will not turn to me.
I’m too frondless,
Too scuffed now