Old Shoes

I seal up the mouth and buckle my brogues, then rush south over perforated ground.
I seal up the mouth and buckle my brogues, then rush south over perforated ground.

I seal up the mouth and buckle my brogues
Then rush south over perforated ground.
Micro-organisms crumpled under weight as
‘The Sun’ aligned soles beneath hurried feet.

Amid the blue mass birds gracefully glide,
Machines fly by with their whirring hearts.
Zebras run over at speed on the crossing
As coloured men flash us along ‘The Curry Mile.’

Through the cast iron gate we stroll in late.
Two lions sit dumb at the entrance faking roars.
My chums depart for Art down the musty corridors.
Art? I am barred, so entered the Common Room.

Touché was swinging rubber bat after Beadle.
Jerome cracked balls with his thin wooden cue
And by the mega window overlooking school fields
Thick girls were bogling to the stereo’s tune.

Ping Pong ball smashes beyond the player’s reach.
I chased it, not a problem, then Lo! and Behold!
The stitching ripped loose and the girls point
aaahhh! My brogues rap the vocals to the ragga beat.

Mother bought them not for me to talk in.
That’s why I shut them up in the morning.
But all afternoon they ate a subtle dust,
I was choking in Mr War’s woodwork class.

The fat lady rings the ding-dong at four.
I stealthily journey to Halle Square on heels.
And ducking the wide eye of Big Brother’s view,
Sssssh! up the sleeve slips a strong super-glue.

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2 thoughts on “Old Shoes

  1. I love the imagery you create with the metamorphosis of statues and machines, the microcosm descriptions, and quirky humour.

    When you wrote “blue mass birds gracefully glide” did the alliteration at all give you the sensation that it was the birds that were the blue mass (e.g. a bluebird) gracefully painting the sky

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