treading along the jagged ground,

my previously white shoes feel every crack

every dip, every bump, every crunchy leaf

that had fallen off of the autumn trees

my green and white sneakers have seen it all

brough on every vacation this past year

been on maybe six planes

my faithful companions

they’ve seen the brick boulevards of quebec city

the old roads of boston

the splattered streets of universal studios

and the wooded trails of great barrington,

but over these expeditions

they’ve been worn out and tired

braved through rain and shine

and everything in between,

and still they are here

covered in dirt and creases

and a black streak from a pen

lays below the famous name “stan smith”

but that doesn’t matter,

i love my shoes

and i’m attached to them

they support me.