we
the shoe and I
we walked that familiar sidewalk
our names fingered in wet concrete
dried hard to hieroglyphics
we walked down the hall
out of the apt
pass eviction
2 homelessness
the International District
20 something millionaire Chinese
ladies wear black leather pants
unapologetically
after donating plasma
we used 10 of the 25
dollars to buy socks
white socks
go with
white underwear
white
the color of clean
white
the color of power
the light came
living in darkness
we can not comprehend
the darkness
even through
the flickering flame
homeless shoes can never walk home
they shuffle, to public bathrooms, colleges, libraries,
& urban rest stops
homeless shoes don’t come in ½ sizes
because you can’t try them on
you are not welcomed at the store
they follow you with mirrors,and cameras
homeless shoes don’t walk to church
they have nothing for the offering
homeless shoes don’t walk to school
they have nothing to learn
for what can you teach a man
that owns each word as a library
owns each seat as chair
owns each phone as a conversation
you can sleep
as long as you stay upright
slumped sleepers are asked to leave
we are defined by the items we own and control
those that own nothing are nothing
those that speak nothing say nothing
those that think nothing solve nothing
those that hear nothing know nothing
those that touch nothing feel nothing
what are the properties of dignity?
the old woman slumped to the sidewalk
her walker flipping and laying with her slumped frame
this image
of human indignity
your children, your women, your grandparents
this is how you show them love
the love that came all the way from kindergarten..
now you sell crack to your grandparents
the stacks of crumpled notes
forgotten bills
lost remittances
abandoned societies
lost civilities
why nothing
really else matters
what is genius?
what are the properties of talent?
if the prize goes to the one with the most money
old men wear limp directions
turning, and folding back
what must he retain?
what must he be afforded?
the exception
his hair, like a lion’s mane
his eye all seeing
his hand all touching
what must he retain?
he has no car, no horse, no shoes
what will we afford him?
he has no home, no bed, no chair
what will we allow him?
he has no friend, no hope, no care
he has, only a shard, a sliver, a small measure
of human pride, and self-love…
will you afford him that?
he paid the price
in your church collection plate
at your Sunday dinners
at Lowell Elementary Day Care
he has changed the diapers of children so rich
that God made them crippled just to even the score
all that remains is like a history
to be measured by the measuring tape of foolish youth
drowning in the libation of their arrogance
the shoe walked into the next high
single cigarette
$2 Big Gulp & hotdog
16 ounce PBR
Triple X, Black Diamond
Snickers bar, Big Mac
Dick’s Deluxe
the next standardization
we are numbered, ordered and indexed
we are the Internet of Things
of soulless objects
weighted by value
appraised at auction
& sold at Market rate
we are each DNS resolvers
ported to the networked super computer
some choose to call God
we are waiting for a sign
look there in the window
the white dog is speaking
the shoe walked into the Blaine Center
for a second night
a room full of strangers
the shoe walked into the TV room
you must remain awake
or get in your bed
where you will hear
many thinking voices
clouded thoughts
that blur my thinking
on Summit Avenue
the Curben Hotel
a community of strangers
slush & snow through Holidays
the standardization of bowling alleys
the standardization of flip flops
the standardization of death
the standardization of neck ties
the standardization of execution
the shoe walked into Volunteer Park
parked the Benz on Mansion rows free parking strip
the shoe walked to the bus lay over
the shoe stepped onto the Metro bus
& down to the train platform
homeless shoes are always weary
they are old Black men with missing teeth
who escort young white women
through University streets
to fight the cold and despair
our minds must be altered
to the clouded semi-conscious pleasure
we find in self-medication
we find solace in libraries
in the cement corners
of parking structures we shoot drugs
into collapsed veins
we shoot dope
in back alley ways
the dope that is our treasure
we store the wealth inside our spirits
our bodies worn numb by frigid cold
our hands, are red, are swollen
like gorrila hands
the standardization of railroads
the standardization of apartments
the standardization of box cars
the standardization of buses
the standardization of pussy
the standardization of love
the standardization of bathrooms
the standardization of coat hangers
the standardization of education
the standardization of philosophy
the standardization of protest
the standardization of resistance
the standardization of revolution
standards observed by China
standards exceeded by Germany
the standardization of Doc Martens
the standardization of Nike
the standardization of socks
the standardization of boots
the standardization of shoes
Doc Marten kindred spirits
the working class shoe
the poor cannot afford
not 2 buy them
living each month
paycheck to paycheck
if only we could rally
if only we could march
to the gates of Broadmoor
to the gates of the Highlands
and there in the midst of a quiet power
commit ritual suicide
in protest, in defiance
of our abject poverty
we look at our phones
our primary device
our eyes fixed
a broken gaze averts to Earth
on the platform, awaiting the train
the mornings procession
casting light upon a converse sneaker top
a vibram soled work boot
a Chinese flip flop
the nurse wears purple trainers
the University professor wears Birkenstocks
the construction worker wears heavy leather steel toe boots
the University student wears high laced Doc Martens
shoes pointing akimbo
of various sizes and widths
the shoes knows the individual foot shapes
through the standardization of their construction
there is a white dog
he peers from a white framed window
the dog is comfortable & warm
he is watching the homeless gather
outside smoking at 1st & Denny
the shoe walked into the UGM
& asked the young Liberian preacher
“do you need any help?”
homeless shoes need clean socks
dry feet, stay clean
dirty feet win emergency room amputations
hobbled men that once proudly strode streets
the shoe walked into Nightwatch
they gave him a bus token and directions to a cot
the shoe has no place else to go
the road to hope has vanished
has become consumed by it’s own wanting
the shoe walks with no direction
& I see you in your high rise
I see you from the rainy sidewalk below
I see you sitting in your arm chair watching your big screen
I see the shinning jewels on your dog’s collar
glistening and sparkling in the colored lights
of Seattle’s 2017 construction crane sky