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.