If you were a shoe, what kind of shoe would you be?
Some eighth wonder for all-n-sundry to see
Or perhaps a low-heeled model modeled after modesty itself —
A shoe so plain as not to be noticed on a brightly lit shelf?
Would you be shiny for footishists too,
A booty shoe fondled by friends on a loo?
Or allergic to stinky toes and filthy nails alike?
Would you rather be the seat of a fat person's bike?
If you were a shoe, would you be a shade of perfect red
Like American Rose or Lust in bed?
A blue suede shoe singing one for the money,
Pretty as a scuttlebutt on a shoe loving bunny?
Would you be a shoe to stamp out a fire?
Or a shoe to run away when the shit's getting dire?
Perhaps a shoe to walk on egg shells and stuff?
A shoe so politically correct that owning one is enough?
How about a kangaroo shoe — would that be you?
Could I walk a mile in you and feel like some folk do?
Could I walk a mile in you to know what it's like
To be worn and forgotten sabots when they strike
Or would you be a happy shoe
A giddy shoe . . .
A funny shoe . . .
What kind of shoe are you?
* * *
No comments:
Post a Comment