Dead Man's Shoes

a short, contemplative poem

Dead Man's Shoes

Two shoes, beneath an empty chair,
Wait obediently, with hushed tongues,
For feet that have already shuffled off.

Shiny as bullets and dog-loyal,
On their back, beetle-black, soles turned heaven-ward.
Best foot forward, and two in the grave.


I''d walk a mile with you tomorrow, if I could.