My Flaming Converse Shoes (Bad Poetry Revised)

I stroke the fabric of your withering all-star frame.

Red, red, red shoes.

And who'd have thought?
I had boring sneakers previously,

Before you.

And then I saw an ad, a colorful array of Converse shoes splayed out upon the page.

Lots of colors, but my eyes could only focus on one pair.

Red. Red. Red shoes.

I took a chance, stepping outside my normal fashion realms.

And suddenly I realized--

Who cared about my disproportionate bony toes,

When enveloped inside a stylish crimson case?
Adorned with

brand

new

fresh

white

laces. Beautiful!

Red, Red, Red shoes.

I remember you dangling beneath me,

On a roller-coaster inside the magic of Disneyland Park, soaring over the mickey mouse hats beneath us.

I remember afternoon walks after a rainy day, when the air is thick and fresh with moisture.

unreservedly we leapt into the joyous wet of a thick mud puddle.

Perhaps the best of all, was when I wore you on a date,

with that handsome young man;

I remember you taking me out on the dance floor,

Pulsing with confidence--Vibrant with flame,

and I didn't care if I wasn't a student at The Pointe! I let my feet fly anyways, graceful or not.

Red, Red, Red shoes.

And here you are now, after all those memories.

Trashy, beat up, worn, and beautiful.

And I'll still wear you, as long as you last,

My flaming converse shoes.

Very Bad Poetry: A sonnet to my shoes

Thine utter crossing laces

doth fray upon my feet

The stench that emanates from you

smells of rotten beets

I dream of days up mountains

and steps in fresh manure

Tears well at thoughts of bubblegum

their stickiness you lured

I have to sigh in thought

at the grand trail of scuff marks

Upon tile floors and wooden gyms;

the squeaking like birds--larks.

I stroke the fading fabric

of your withering all-star frame

I hope you'll not forget me

For I'll always remember your fame

For as long as I have you

In mud puddles I'll leap

And smash the wand'ring red ants

that beneath your soles creep

There's not so many folks with love

enough to make a verse

For my trashy, tattered, beat and worn

disgusting pair of Converse.

The Impulse: Train Station

M: Jessica, it's so good to see you again! I can't believe how long it's been.
W: Me neither. Who knew that three years could pass so quickly . . .
M: What are your plans, now that you've finished your undergrad and all?
W: Well, you remember how much I enjoy writing.
M: Yeah, I remember that little notebook you used to carry around.
W: The one you stole from me every so often; wehre you wrote your name all over on random pages? And hearts with our initials inside?
M: Yeah, that one. Anyway, go on!
W: You're blushing!
M: Go on!
W: You know I'm teasing. It's my job. Anyway, I'm leaving to Massachussets to pursue a career in journalism.
M: So fitting, for you. Someday, when you publish a pulitzer, I'll have bragging rights.
W (laughing): What do you mean?
M: You know, when this fabulous piece is raved about in newspaper columns and the news, and the whole literate audience in America booms "Who is Jessica W. Renaldi?" I'll pull out my yearbook, point to your picture, and show everybody that I know you-- that htis grand work was written by none other than my friend.
W: Well, I doubt that will happen for quite a while, if at all. But I appreciate the flatter nonetheless, Jake. (pauses, and mutters under her breath) my friend.
M: Jess-- (pauses; steps forward and back, shuffling, before lokoing back up at her, a faint smile on his face), do you ever wonder waht might've been?
W: I don't know what you mean.
M: I think you do, Jess.
W: I thought you stopped calilng me that.
M: What?
W: Jess. You haven't called me that since . . . since . . .
M: Yeah, I know when. But why not start back up again? Old habits die hard, and all that. And I missed you. I miss you. I can't hardly believe I'm talking to you now, while you're waiting for your train to take you across the country.
W: I can believe it. I can also believe that the old habits need to be left with the past. It's not worth it to me. I can't endure it again, Jake. You weren't the only one that was hurt by the distance.
M: I suppose you're right. But that doesn't mean my feelings have gone away in the least bit.
W: Jake, the distance--
W: You say it like it'll all be fien. Like we won't mind being apart, that our love will 'conquer all.' But it's time for me to move on. That was 1930, jake, and now its 1933. It has to be this way.
M (kisses her cheek, and whispers in her ear): I understand.
(uncomfortable silence)
W (feigned nonchalance): So, what are your plans?
M (looks down at his business suit): Well, judging by my stuffy garb, I think I'll be continuing on as a lawyer.
W: You'll do wonderfully!
(Train whistle)
W: That's my ride. I'd best be off. It was good to see you, really, it was.
M (picking up her suitcases and helping her aboard): You too. Good luck in Massachussets, Jess. Keep in touch.
W (with a sad smile): I think for both our best interests, I'd better not.
M (mournfully): Bye.