New shoes are like some people
You're grateful for them
But you don't love them yet.
You just hope you can wear them in
Before you wear them out.
In the Army of Northern Virginia
About half of us had shoes.
Sometimes it was better to go barefoot
Than march all day in some two sizes too small.
When my best friend was killed two days ago
I got to wear his
A pretty good fit, and best of all
It meant that something of him
Could carry on.
He would have done the same for me.
But now it's not the thirty miles
To where we will lay down our arms
For the last time.
I don't have to watch for snipers
In the trees or across the river.
The only things killing me
On this three miles to the bench
Are these new shoes.
I've stuffed paper down the back of the heels
And with every step I'm trying
Not to visualise the seeping blood.
Anyway I've made it,
Maybe I'll get to love them more
On the way back.