Shoes

I never trust a person with clean shoes.
Shoes with no scuffs, no wear.
No dirt, no booze, no blood.
Bottoms so clean you can't see a hint of old gum or a stuck bit of gravel.
I don't trust them because the shoes speak volumes.
They tell me you care about appearances.
They tell me of the places you haven't been.
They tell me of how little you use your feet.
But a person with dirty shoes.
I'll have a beer with them.
Because their shoes have been around.
The shoes are like a collage of a person's life.
They're stained with beer from New Year's.
They're scuffed from that time in the woods.
The loops of your laces are at irregular lengths.
They tell me how far your feet have taken you.
They whisper memories of what your eyes have seen.
They tell stories of fact and fiction.
Just like my own.
We may see the world in different colors, at different depths.
But I know we both see colors.
And we both see depth.
And for that, this round's on me.