InkWoven.com

Published 19 July 1997, The Philippine Star, Philippines.

The ever-changing soul, um, sole.

Shoes

The soles antediluvian
of my hollow being sustain
with silent patience, or patient silence,
the blunt end
of your insecurities and neuroses.

Have you ever thought
of the beatings I get
from cruel concrete pavements
and wooden floors that reek
of lemon-scented dye wax?

The stat book of all the
fouls I received against debris and rocks
had long since been deluged
by both defensive and offensive kinds,
even the technicals.
Sadly, I drew no shots, just bruises from impact
that left me more empty than ever.
And pained.

I endure the stench
of your human inadequacies;
take time out to absorb
the wetness that streaks from your flesh
like tears. Sweat.

There are the clumps of gum:
the sugary sweetness chewed out;
dog waste, even the toffee candy from Brunei
that you didn’t like.
You were too enraptured with the sights ahead
to look down once in a while
at the path you tread.

Times came that you outgrew me
or gave me away to less-classy promdi relatives
or I was just too worn
to show off anymore.

Your tootsies’ humble sheath,
I am at your bidding and discretion.

Once I was a pair of boots with spurs,
then suede pumps, and docksiders.
Now – for now – I’m a Nike Air.