Nancy L. Meek

SHOELESS AND CLUELESS

I met a man who had no shoes.
So, I gave him both of mine.
Too bad they were Size 7,
because he wore a “9”.

So, where were you when I was born;
for, surely, you knew then
I’d meet that man who had no shoes…
which touched my soul within?

If shoes were fish, mine would be bones
and he’d be starving still;
unless he swapped my shoes for food,
not liquor from a still.

Or… maybe someone came along
who wore my smaller size
and traded cold hard cash for them…
which any bum would prize.

If so, perhaps he used the dough
to buy some shoes that fit.
Oh gee, I could go on and on
in making sense of it.

Why cause me, God, to cross his path
then to leave me in the dark…
clueless on the fate of my shoes
donated in the park?

Perhaps, one day, you’ll clue me in
on why I deemed them “mine”
and why I feel this need to know
what happened down the line.

If Earth is yours and all within,
then they weren’t mine to give;
but yours, for sharing in this realm
in which we briefly live.

With being such, you’d think I’d trust
that you, in all your glory,
would show some mercy in this feat
to thus here end my story.