The Strange Case Of The Illegal Runaway Shoes
They were just an old pair of ankle-high shoes,
by Mary Naylor
Standing quietly, side by side.
The stiff laces had come a bit loose
Revealing a pair of tongues, broad and wide.
“I don’t want to be his shoes, ”
The tongues wagged, the leather, stiff with mud
And scars from heavy work, gave them an earthy hue.
The shoes tipped back, and the illegal immigrant fell,
Like a startled pair of does, they streaked for the door,
But they had to stop, as the police blocked the way.
A shiny police shoe said, don’t leave him shoeless on the
Look, he can seek administrative review, they say.
OH, yeah, the tongue flapped, how about xenophobians
And how about indefinite detention, translation,
He’ll be free at their whim.
Ah, but the tongues had paused, and an officer used
Clutching the wildly, wiggling, shoes, he cried,
Look, see here, I’ve caught his shoes!
It took two officers to put them on the dazed
They tied the laces tightly. The tongues knew they
Finally, the shoes stood quietly. They knew when they
Had been beat.