Footwear Fetish Poem by Mary Champion

I can't recall when I did not love shoes,
wishing for a pair to match each dress -
back then, they rarely offered other hues -
black or brown for school - drab dreariness.
Light canvas, summer sandals came in white-
I floated down the road like thistledown,
dreaming of some distant day I might
be shod in dainty footwear all year round.

My super-fetish dawned - aged seventeen -
my aunt took me to Streatham for a treat,
I walked out of that shop proud as a queen -
boots of pure white leather on my feet.
Italian; golden-buckles; chisel toes -
in 1962, no one at school,
back home in Devon had a pair like those.
At last, plain Jane had her chance to be cool.

Winkle-pickers, sling backs, sky-high heels;
strappy sandals cutting into flesh;
wedges, platforms, moccasins and mules-
but never much liked flip-flops I confess.
I tried out every colour on my feet.
I hoarded shoes and had so many pairs
Imelda Marcos struggled to compete
with the dozens on my wardrobe shelves upstairs.

But, for all I love them, shoes come second best
to the footwear that has truly won my heart -
Sleek and black and knee-high - they impressed;
cowboy style or wet-look white are smart;
ankle-length in leopard skin - divine;
purple, scarlet, any colour suits;
I love them all and need them to be mine.
I feel my very best in sexy boots.