Red Shoes
It’s a strange kind of gap
Or emptiness you could call it
But there is a hankering I have
A longing, a long-held desire
To complete my wardrobe
And fulfil a need I’ve had since youth
When I knew no better
I must have a pair of red shoes or boots
To peer out shyly from my denims
And show the world that I am still alive
But they must not be bright or brazen
The wrong shade, not Royal Mail red
But dark as ox-blood, deep as bleeding
Soft, gentle tongues
Beneath eyelets and laces
Pulled through and carefully tied with double bows
Hard soles and calf-leather uppers
To embrace my aging feet
And carry me through
Until I need footwear no longer
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