We Trade Shoes Poem by Gulliver Gimble

We trade shoes.
Today you are wearing mine.
I know those shoes all too well.
Run if you have not been cut down.
Nobody hears the starting gun.
It goes off regardless of who is around.
Shouldn’t it be pointed away from you?

We trade shoes.
Tomorrow may be my turn.
I am use to it just the same.
There are many, many holes in the soles.
Winning is not a question here.
You will never be a winner in a judge's eyes.
I have tried many times and have only won alone.

We trade shoes.
They are so worn out and hurt my feet.
Run awhile and they will grow on you.
Do not leave them around for others to fill.
These are not the type for good family outings.
I once wanted to hang them up for good.
But the starting gun is always firing away.

We trade shoes.
You shouldn’t be surprised, we always have.
Maybe, they only hurt your feet now.
They still have a few good miles left on them.
You’ll know when to wash your wounds.
Untangle the laces and tie them yourself.
If you forget how, others will surely do it for you.