Shoes talk a lot when they’re old. When they were young they could squeak The way newborn babies speak. Old shoes have much more to say Though they are as silent as tipping toes. Creases across the arches wink They way crow’s feet crinkle When an old man smiles or blinks. Unkempt buckles or tattered laces Like an old maid’s once loved locks. Scuffs and scars from roads of Grass, dirt, pavement, bricks From places shoes no longer recognize. Their soles are worn and wise from travel. Yet they know the feet inside them They way a grandmother’s eyes know Her grandchildren.
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