Tiddle and toddle and piggy pink toes,
buckles and buttons and bouncy big bows,
hopping on one foot and marching with two;
flip flops and booties or Dad’s giant shoe?
Slip on some slippers and slide into socks,
stomp in green gumboots and clomp in blue Crocs,
sandals and sneakers and snakes of shoelace,
feetsies and footsies all over the place.
Trying on shoes whether shiny or frayed,
on again, off again, join the parade!
Photo from Pexels by Max Schwoelk
You bought us in Summer when we were sparkly new:
brilliant white, shiny bright with a stripe of navy blue.
You took us to netball; you took us to the pool.
We went on an excursion, a casual day at school.
We got a little grimy; we got a little worn,
a scratch on the left heel; one lace was partially torn.
We played in the garden. We trudged on a hike.
We toured around the neighbourhood, pedalling on your bike.
We got a little tawdry; our tread was worn down low,
a scuff here, a mark there; a hole in one toe.
We stomped in muddy puddles. We danced in the rain.
We got a little water-logged. We got a little stained.
As we sit on the backstep, we’re hardly sparkly new.
We’re a muddy sort of brown with a faded stripe of blue.
But if we could have our druthers, I’m sure we’d rather be
nothing more than what we are: your favourite pair of shoes.
I hear what sounds like footsteps
From beneath the stairs
Where all my many sneakers live
In colour coded pairs.
I hear a lot of movement
And voices raised up high
There seems to be contention
Amongst sneakers standing by.
Each want to have an outing
And are fighting for position
But fail to understand
That the choice is my decision.
It’s all about my wardrobe
And what I choose to wear
Determining my selection
Although seemingly unfair.
The noise is getting louder
I will have to take some action
Read to them the riot act
To end this senseless faction.
So down the stairs I go
Open the cupboard door
To find all the sneakers
Lying quietly on the floor.
A smile returns to my lips
As I survey sneakers galore
Admiring the many colours
And for them what lay in store.
Image from Stockcake
Australian Children’s Poetry 