Down At Heel

When Sydney was small
My size 12 running shoe
Was a thing she could sleep in
And–once or twice–chew.

When Sydney was young
I’d slip on my size 12s
And together we’d ramble
For miles by ourselves.

When Sydney was older
My running shoes walked
At her side or behind her;
She sniffed and I talked.

When Sydney was fading
I’d slip off my shoes
At the end of a run
And she’d sniff them for news.

Since Sydney departed
That cold winter morn,
Their laces have frayed and
The heels have grown worn

But those 12s are the shoes
I still wear when I jog.
There’s a hole in my sole
And it’s thanks to my dog.

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About Michael

Silliness is good
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Down At Heel

  1. Loved the poem! Wonderful ending with the double meaning of the last two lines.

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