Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Boot

Ryan King

I
Savior of soles,
Laced leather foot guardians,
Anyone would call you
Superior to the shoe.

II
Dirt grains crunch
Under his boots – the hiker
Treks on, mountains raised
Beneath him. His footprints
Settle in the trail.

III
Pastor of the trenches,
The jungle, the desert -
A soldier prays,
His boots listen.

IV
Tiny fingers bind the rubber
And leather,
Tiny fingers thread
Your laces,
Tiny fingers hold up
Your feet on their tips.

V
After Four hours of driving,
Money blown on bait
And permits, the only
Thing we bring home
Is a sodden boot.

VI
Knee high zip-ups clack on the runway.
She reaches the end, puts the boots on display.
Pivots.
A dozen cameras flash as the
fashionistas say
Stylish.

VII
Her parents smile as

She hops into the puddle;
Her red boots scare away
The still water.

VIII
Dusty,
Well traveled,
Spinning stirrups;
Clint Eastwood would
Be proud.

IX
Reaching the end of the day,
I untie my boots.
This high up, every movement
Of the laces hurts my
Swollen fingers.

X
Work boots and
A leather jacket,
He jerks back and forth
With every furious shake
Of his green Mohawk.

XI
‘ Give him the boot’
‘ Pulled up by your bootstraps’
A humble member of many an idiom.

XII
That extra rubber will help
George fool more than
A few people.
Spray paint them black,
They’ ll pass as formal wear.

XIII
Crunch on dirt.
Squeak on tile.
Thud on pavement.
Unfazed by all.