Old friends, the

time has come for

us to part. I’ve

worn you out,

for all the times

I’ve worn you

out there working.

Toes scuffed down

to safety steel.

Paint splattered

on your desiccated

uppers. How many

laces did I break?

Soles worn through

completely like mine

from time to time

and me still standing

on my own.

We stood so much

together, dizzy heights

and mucky depths,

laces wrapped twice tight

around my ankles,

knotted with a double

bow. Adieu.

Take your rest.

You’re no good to me

anymore. But I am good

for something yet and I

will do what I must do


I bought myself a brand

new pair of boots.