Ode to the Polka Dot Shoes

My friend, whom we shall call LC (because that’s what we call her), suffered a loss recently. Her favourite shoes, a pair of black and white polka dot flats, had become fatally worn and she was forced to send them into retirement. It was a tough decision, one that came only after several sleepless nights and visits to the local cobbler. (Yes, cobblers still exist and are still called cobblers). In honour of her shoes and the legacy they left behind like a trail of classy little footprints, I wrote a poem. It is my first and, therefore, my very best effort at poetry. You’re welcome, universe.


OH! Polka Dot Shoes.

How you be so


Your days so many

Your path so varied

Your tread so very


Like a ferry boat made of leather

And other stuff

You transported two feet and a heartbeat

To and fro

Hither and yon

Never complaining

A martyr, really

A polka dot martyr

Until you took your last steps

The life squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaking out of you

On the streets of somewhere glamorous


Like New York

Or Honolulu



You drew attention

Completed outfits

Inspired a trend


Polka Dots

Where do we go from here?



Snake skin?

(Please say snake skin)

We struggle to move forward


On tippy-toe

Trying not to step on the pile of broken glass and hypodermic needles that is your memory

Our loss

And yet

Feet need shoes like neon needs spandex

So LC will soldier on

Her toes will wiggle and wriggle anew

In another pair of something-or-others



Polka Dot Shoes become a faded photograph

A foot-ograph?

Yes, a faded footograph

Gone, but not forgotten

Never forgotten

Except by people with terrible memories

Who can’t help it

So go forth

Polka Dot Shoes

And grace the soles of those who have passed before you

(I’m talking about ghosts)

Like Marilyn Munroe

Or Farrah Fawcett


The Wicked Witch of the West

She had a thing for great shoes

As we lay you down to rest

Polka Dot Shoes

Know that you have left a trace on our hearts

And our muddy spots

It is shaped like a shoe that is size 8.5

And kind of square around the toes

I think

Your trace is not the bad kind

Like when someone litters

Or doesn’t put out their fire properly at a campsite

It’s a good kind of trace

Like a really cool fossil

And who doesn’t love fossils?

Only assholes

Categories: stories and such | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Post navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: