“Dirty Shoes”

Those crusty pair of Converse
Still rotting in my closet
They were the connection to my friends
And the protection to my feet.

And I wore those shoes
Until the soles were bare
Smooth and thin
Like a marble statue
The canvas tattered and rigid
Deep black faded to medium gray
Time itself had stripped them of color
Rubber toes scuffed and warped
As rock molded by waves
White laces bearing the years of wear
Of dirt and grime
Still reeking of failed bleaching attempts
The insides worn and pungent
As if soaked in spoiled milk.

And yet they still lay,
Buried deep within my closet,
In case I need,
A pair of Dirty Shoes.