Footloose

After looking at my bedroom floor one night, I wrote this poem the next morning.

                                                 Footloose

                                    In some places, shoes
                                    reside on racks
                                    confined in closets
                                    categorized by color
                                    or by class -
                                    brown, black, beige,
                                    the dress-up separated
                                    from the everyday.

                                    But here, we shed our shoes
                                             wherever we want
                                   so they end up
                                           under the coffee table
                                                or Ikea chairs
                                    beside the bed
                                              at the foot of the stairs,
                                    sneakers and sandals
                                          and slippers
                                    wingtips and work boots
                                                and even the loafers
                                     all huddle in herds
                                         or hide on their own,
                                    all ready to roam
                                                 the wide world round –
                                    or trip us in the dark
                                                                     where we all fall down.