On Being Fourteen Years Old and Needing New Shoes
If I was having a shit time at home,
it never really felt as bad
if the sun was out,
burning everything.
When it rained,
the rain always seemed to try
its best to ruin me.
Destroy me.
The dirty water would seep
through the holes
in the soles
of my shoes and
my socks would absorb
the water like sponges.
I remember once
I put my foot on
a piece of cardboard and
drew a line around it
with a black marker pen,
cut it out and taped it
into my shoe,
it didn’t do anything.
The water still seeped in,
made the cardboard
a soggy mess and
it was useless
like
everything
else.
I asked my dad for a new pair shoes but
he just stared at my old shoes hanging
from my hands limply like two dead black baby pigs and
asked what the hell was wrong with those shoes.
I showed him the holes
in the worn smooth soles
and
he nodded and took them into the kitchen and closed the door.
When he came out and gave them back to me
I saw he had put black electrical tape over the holes.
I said thank you and
went up to my room,
threw the shoes against the wall and
laid on the floor listening to
the
television
blaring up
through
the floorboards.