A Poem by Lanoir
My old black shoes for crews.
They were given to me when I started working at Chipotle Mexican Grill.
I wore them every day to work. Slip-free slip-on Chuck Taylor knock offs.
I wore them every night on my way back to the shelter, I wore them to the rap show and didn’t mind if they were thrashed, I wore them at a party, I wore them at the function.
Shoes specifically made for people working in environments around food.
Then I lost my housing.
These were the only shoes I had to wear, the only sneakers in my storage space.
I wore them to go spend a night at a friend’s house, I wore these shoes to go look for jobs, and I wore these shoes when I got the jobs.
Leather black size 12 chuck Taylor knock offs.
I wore these shoes for 3 months straight and I have scored the coolest job at Hard Rock Café.
Yet I still have to wear with these damn shoes.
Impressionable, money making shoes.
I’ve became so used to them, they’ve became my little good luck charms.
Damn shoes have been holding on strong to my fabulous hardworking feet, getting me to where I need to be.
Now they’re all ran down and when I walk they squeak.
But no matter how many pairs I buy, these shoes are surely neat.