BLACK SHOES

His hand slapped the backside

of the bass while busy fingers

snapped alive the strings into music

words he whispers during dreams.

When he’s half way around the world

he knows he’s finally half way home.

Curtains of clouds guide his direction

past empty diners and towns without

smiles.

He never feels lost when on the move;

strangers watch his steps, waiting for him

to leave.

He has respect for used cars and sweat stained

hats. Each possessing his spirit of having

been somewhere and someplace.

Orange is his favorite color. His arms are

tan and his neck wrinkled with miles.

Black shoes provide a humble escape.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s