Boots

Down the sidewalk slowly
                      dancing
Scuffing feet thru fallen leaves
    I left my mark
     making sparks with the spikes
     on the bottom of my lumberjack
                                                 boots.

No one knows anymore
                            in Michigan
that loggers had lugs
          had sharp steel points
to walk surefooted on logs
                    in the river
wearing kneehigh boots they called
                                              corks.

I bought mine cheap
         a buck apiece
two bucks total, he wanted four.
But I had a car & was miles from home
     & the boots weren't bad enough
      that I wanted them bad enough
      to pay all my gas money
       & walk away with 'em on.

        Now many months later
           the soles are bare
From striking fire & wishing it was fear.
The cement & the asphalt & concrete & stone
have worn my steel to the leather.

But a few will remember
       the jig I danced
& the blues I sang in the street
& the fire that followed
          my footsteps home
as I walked off singing
                            through shadows.
Hot rhythm
              to my
                       cool, slow
                                     beat.