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Shoes

Shoes tell a story.

Old and young … Big and small.

Just think of the renowned 6-word story – flash fiction – attributed to Hemingway…

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Incredible how 6 words can elicit a tear.

This week’s lyrical song inspiration originates in the new running shoes of my 15 month-old grandson.  The little guy has begun to proudly “walk” in the last week or two and sports the coolest orange sneakers.

I’m struck by the juxtaposition of his pumpkin-orange shoes sitting next to my blue New Balance runners.

These pairs of brightly-hued shoes are truly the bookends of life.

Forget 6 words, these shoes speak a thousand, no, a million words.

It reminds me of the bronzed set of baby shoes from my mother’s infancy I have sitting on our living room shelf. A hundred years ago she fiddled and toddled around in these, and today I can hold them in the palm of my hand.

Then I think over my life and of the shoes I’ve owned; the ones I’ve hesitated to discard even though they’re worn down to nothingness.

My Ironman Nikes that I sweat in for many miles and hours in 1990… my ebony wingtip wedding shoes that reflected like dark pools of silky water but were always too tight … the brown velcro’ed sandals I bought in the black market in Beijing.

shoe collection

Shoes are drama and fun.

Shoes are loose and tight… sometimes dreamy and sexy.

Shoes are a warehouse of memory and story.

So, today I give you my song dedicated to our friends… the pedi protectors, the projectors of our personality, our loved and occasionally hated companions through the years… shoes.

Hum this to a musical whimsy in your head…

SHOES

Wake up every morning
you slip them on your feet
they hug your toes all safe and warm
they get you to the street
and even if they smell real bad
at least you’re looking chic

Ev’rybody’s got ’em
right below their pant hem
ya wear them in the am
and oftimes in the pm
by folks who hike earth’s emerald glens
and those who hop like Moonmen

On those frigid Arctic wintry nights
we cheeky guys would snipe
Hey, where’d you get those bland new shoes?
from beer we’re high as kites
We’d sing and dance and schmooze
“is that the cat who chewed your new shoes”

Some are like Imelda
with a thousand pairs or two
a friend who calls them CFM’s
won’t explain that one to you
Cuz sex and sexy don’t heed the word
for them with heels like birds

CHORUS

Manolo what the hell is that?
My style not red as Loubs
I slide them on and still feel jacked
with all this orange and blue
serene’s my colour sure as life
I’m the lucky prince who
holds the hand of my wee man
as we stroll in our new shoes

toddler shoes