Shoes on the subway
make moving patterns in zig zags and squiggles and shapes and lines.
And in big clumps, their shoelaces bob up and down,
almost nodding their shoelace heads and agreeing,
“Yes, that was a wonderful step,
mm-hmm, that was a top-notch step,
yup, that step was grade-A,
ten points for that step!”
Shoes in the rain
are careful not to walk in a puddle,
but people don’t always realize that
it is weird and beautiful
that every so often
water just falls from the sky,
like a cloud-person knocked a drink off the table
and the droplets are hitting us down here in Manhattan.
We can never really tell
how far away the sky is
because after awhile, it all blends together —
especially when it’s raining, and the water is in your eyes,
it’s very hard to tell
how far away the sky is.
It’s nice to feel like this in the rain:
so thankful that you are alive
that you’re not worried about getting your shoes wet.
Shoes on the street
never notice the wind —
and it is so crazy how people
have made all of these cars and bridges and planes
but we can’t stop the wind from blowing away our hats.
The wind doesn’t know who or what
it is pushing around.
If you are a person in the wind
it doesn’t matter who you are —
because in the wind, in the rain, in the sun, in the snow,
it is not always about you.
And sometimes it’s nice to be a hat in the wind.
Shoes in the waiting room
just like me.
We hear the people talk about politics, or about skin care,
or about the weather forecast,
and when they laugh it sounds like a sitcom.
I see people, and
they see me too.
we both smile.
I want to know them.
I see faces
in the smudges on people’s shoes,
faces in the holes of a homeless man’s sweater;
I see faces in the clouds,
and in electrical sockets,
faces on the veins of leaves,
on the dried gum stuck to the sidewalk.
I see faces that I know and faces that I do not know —
I watch the strangers trying
not to watch each other.
And so they look down
at shoes on the subway.
I see faces doused in the fluorescent light.
They are brilliant.