THOSE SHOES

Did you ever wonder about them? About the man who had put them there, and why. I say ‘man’ only because – though unisex in style – they were rather large trainers. We should always question assumptions: plenty of bigfoot women out there after all.

An instant cast-off, in favour of pair newly bought? Surely not, as soundly laced and seeming little worn. The nearby clothes bank maybe a step too far, or full? But any hand-me-down lover would have to brave both public gaze and the heavy traffic.

Perhaps – in their dead centre placement, laid precisely parallel to the zebra stripes – an homage to Magritte? Or McCartney crossing Abbey Road. The invisible drawn to our attention in the way a thunderclap enhances your hearing, just for a moment.

Did rubber soles get stuck on the tarmac’s blistering heat? Simple explanations are often true. Ever since I’ve speculated on how thick-skinned his feet were. Yes, he could have been wearing socks. Friends do question the detail of my recollection.

Nowadays I snapshot all abandoned clothing. Mostly single gloves, happened on in winter months. An odd scarf now and then; just the one hat. Shoes are rare – unless you look up at trees. Every picture hides a story.

iv. 2019 – i. 2020

TWITTEN (a post-election daydream)

 

Scarcely more than shoulder breadth,

you cannot see the opening

from this year’s end.

Two sides obstruct the solstice light:

no shadows dance

or – in its gloomy closing – slink

like alley cat round beer cans.

 

Walls so tall they seem to lean in.

Ivy overspills their coping,

reaches fingers down.

I approach our lengthening days

between brick piers;

but find each minute, newly lit,

is – by shallow angles – blinded.

 

There’s more time now, though less to say.

Listening for tongues, we hear only

three-word echoes.

How far this passage goes rests on

choice of measure:

careless whether yards or metres,

lichen clings in fractured mortar.

i. 2020

 

Highly Commended, Sussex Together Festival Oct.2020