My Dying Boots Poem by Walani Ndhlovu

I'm gone to flog off my winter shoes
And I hope he, with the weather he is in won't refuse
I'll only bring him back when I see no demand
That's when I'll need a hand
For he won't wait in store, he will decay.

He did fine with the snow, warming me like a geyser
That I think he might well wait while socked in a freezer
For with the sun he's in a solitary path
As no friend of him sun-bath
So here he is. Take him to the cold. He will decay.