Old Tennis Shoes

My town,
that old-dirt-road town,
is a living history of feet.

There are feet around every turn.

Brown feet,
white feet,
and every-color-in-between feet.

Tiny feet,
oblong feet,
and size seven feet.

There are sandaled feet in the
summer swelter,
and heeled feet that scuff and
clack down the sidewalk.

There are feet in boots that thunder
through the old-dirt-road high school.
There are those sporting flip-flops in January,
those obstinate feet.

There are sneaker feet–
Nike, Reebok, and Aadias feet.
These feet are like basketball and volleyball feet.
Oh! And don’t forget cleated feet.

We have a few tap feet and even fewer
ballet feet,
dancing along our foot-worn stage.

But there’s another set of feet–
a barefoot set of feet.

These feet weren’t always bare.
They belonged to those old tennis shoes.

Those tennis shoes dangling
in the sky.
Those tennis shoes sun-baked to perfection,
basking in their old-dirt-road glory.
Those tennis shoes that defined a generation
while defying another.

Those old tennis shoes are a landmark
to every resident.
Well, all except the pigeons.

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