I’ve walked a thousand miles in my own shoes, and I need a new pair.
These shoes I have worn for the last years, my feet have outgrown.
This soul of mine needs new soles.
The first fifteen years, I wore the anti-conformist’s brand. The next fifteen, I traded them up for integrity. Now, I’m shopping for something that won’t squeeze my mind’s toes.
I think I know just the kind I need, but they don’t come cheap.
I’ve seen some people wearing them–they seem to glide a little– like maybe these new shoes have given them a bounce.
I’m thinking: I’ve got two feet.
I’ve got two longings.
I’ve got two of most of everything.
I asked a ventriloquist who had a spring in his step, if I could sneak a peek at the bottom of his footwear, after all, here’s a man who’s just like me: talking out of the side of his mouth, trying to sound clear.
I was surprised at the tag, embedded deep into the sole of his shoe.
Is this what the bounce is all about, I asked.
“Yes,” returned the wooden puppet through the man’s mouth.
I stared at the word that will be my new slipper.