That crazy colored tribal pattern
That almost matches your purse
With the edges that are fraying
And the rubber that's separating
From the streets of downtown Oly
To the sandy shores of the beach
Down the Cherry Creek Trail
And Easton Town Center Mall
Soles worn down and coming out
White rubber now turned brown
Seams pulling out, fabric ripped
Stretched and worn to a perfect fit
CO to WA, OH to ON
All around and back again
Mountains, plains, oceans, and streets
They're always on my feet
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
That crazy colored tribal pattern
That almost matches your purse
With the edges that are fraying
And the rubber that's separating
From the streets of downtown Oly
To the sandy shores of the beach
Down the Cherry Creek Trail
And Easton Town Center Mall
Soles worn down and coming out
White rubber now turned brown
Seams pulling out, fabric ripped
Stretched and worn to a perfect fit
CO to WA, OH to ON
All around and back again
Mountains, plains, oceans, and streets
They're always on my feet
A poem about my favorite pair of shoes that my mum often refers to as "you know, those hippie shoes"
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