Shoes Gazing

I’ve got more shoes
than any human needs.
Shoes that shine
like police sirens.
That stretch out long,
like a clown’s.
Shoes that talk
of all those tomorrows.
Scuffed and bolted,
pushed beneath the bed.
Hominid feet all
knarled and sprawling.
Lingering footprints,
washed away by the sea.
Shoes gazing at the feet,
of barking dogs,
longing to be licked.