These Old Shoes

Quick little poem about what we cover our feet with.

These Old Shoes

They we're the best shoes I ever did own.
Ripped and tattered they were worn to the bone.
I can't count how many times they had been sown.
The bottoms were torn apart like a scone.

It was like I was running faster than fusion.
Up through its sole came a sharp intrusion.
Breaking my skin, the nail made its protrusion
Thought I needed a blood transfusion.

It put me into a state of dilution
Almost fainted with all the confusion.
I threw them right into closet seclusion.
Made me so mad I drew my conclusion.

Ultimately, that feeling I could not ignore.
They sat atop a bag which laid on the floor.
A memory was all they were anymore.
Then, just before I went out the door,

I threw them in the garbage!