Slipshod sneakers and city shoes

Tip a tap, tip a tap,

The slow pattern of booted heels hitting the tarmac,

Each strike a precise slash of heel bone to metal tip.

I feel the pavement, rough, irregular

Under the swaying motion of my feet,

That move in perpendicular lines

Cutting a swathe through the leaf litter underfoot.

I remember slip-shod youthful days

Sliding sneakered feet along grass made patchy

And barren by the lack of rain.

Dirt-scuffed shoe tips, earthy plastic

Smeared with footloose games of tag and stuck-in-the-mud,

Those sneakers have run to holes,

Broken at the heels and worn through, worn out

By childhood games, and now?

I wear city shoes for city streets, not ready to play

Run out around the park, catch me if you can

Back home by dark shoes.

That girl is gone.

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