Tuesday, 26 March 2019

My Old Blue Pumps

I kept them on,
my old blue pumps.
You see,
I could see a broad band
of sharp shells
and pebbles
and other flotsam
between me and the sea
so I kept them on,
my old blue pumps,
until I’d crossed over.
I eased them off carefully
but even so the sharp sand
grazed my heels.
Never mind,
the sea would sooth them,
wash away the pain
with the ingrained sand.
And it did
as I swam.
But at the end
they were no longer waiting for me
on the shoreline,
my old blue pumps.
No longer waiting when I emerged
healed and refreshed,
no longer waiting
but captured by the sea
and washed away with the rest.


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