inspired
a
year
after
THE
Incident,
a simple post EVENT event
wherein our father mentioned
he had left his hiking and work boots
in the front hall and
"if they are of any use Lance
you're welcome to them" -
we happen to wear the same size 8 and
the odometer has spun round and round
what with decades of refereeing,
touring, walking to and from work thus
a poem -
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The Passing of The Boots
You’ve
wandered
London streets and haunts,
Climbed high among the Quechua mounts,
’Round Machu Picchu’s crisp thin air;
Roamed Roman York’s cobb’d pavement fair,
Strolled Mayan sites, Quetzalcoatl Square,
Chichén-Itzá, Merida and Uxmal too;
But for you those old hiking boots are through.
You’ve
done your
chores without much angst,
And taken care of the family manse;
Rewired, plumbed and nailed quite true,
Repaired, replaced what’s failed and through;
Crafted cupboards, bedrooms and study desks,
Fences, porches, and garden- phew!
Those work-boots now have seen their due.
Now
it’s
time for a well earned rest,
In a nearby beach park you like best;
To be chauffeured, around with care,
And ride like a king in a wheeled chair.
How great it is to simply be alive,
Hold a great-grandchild y’almost never knew.
All this ya’can do in a walking shoe.
Thanx dad
for the much
needed, well cared for footwear !
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