Boots

Just a short, thoughtful, abstract poem.

I see my boots
lying there so
limp and lifeless
on the floor.

I admire their smooth
brown skin, flecked
with white from
the salt we will never eat.

I often wonder,
will they ever tire
of my life and
all that it implies?

What if I wake one day
to find that they have
gone to walk the world
on their own,

leaving me to wait,
like a mother by the
door, for their
untimely return?