Morgan Michaels

The New Shoes - Poem by Morgan Michaels

Everytime I wear my new, good shoes
Doesn't it just rain?
And I don't mean pennies from heaven.

It rains-no, pardonnez, it pours
over the under toes and soles of my
Expensive, good, new shoes.

It doesn't matter what the news may say
A propos precipitation,
If I so much as don them- thunderation,

down, down, down it comes
Beginning with a spatter,
Turning soon into a very- -serious matter;

Whether they be loafers, like their wearer
Or if they've laces;
Oxfords, made of suede, or

patten leather, as the case is,
black, maroon or just plain blue,
It's irrelevant, so I've spent

Over a day's pay on 'em,
Parapluie o non; so,
whether they come from Sims

or Lord and Taylor, maybe;
off the racks of Saks
Or lowly Army Navy,

down, down, down it comes
I'm just letting you know
(Actually, it's scary)
Whenever I wear my old, new shoes.

Topic(s) of this poem: love

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Poem Edited: Saturday, September 10, 2016

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