BY MARTIN KICH
This item was posted to our faculty listserve yesterday:
“A pair of navy blue men’s dress slacks were found outside between Rike and Allyn halls. If you are missing them, please email me.”
The item about the lost men’s slacks reminded me that about 30 years ago, I wrote a poem about the solitary shoes that one sees with somewhat surprising regularity along the berms of roads.
The Cordovan Laborer’s Boot
It stands upright
beside the interstate,
with several hundred acres
of winter wheat between it
and the nearest farmhouse.
It looks nicely broken in,
not worn–its laces loosened
and its tongue bent forward
as if it had been removed
and set down with some care.
It is one of that scattered
tribe of shoes that gather
on the berms, hoping perhaps
to catch the eye of a sock
in need of succor or, even yet,
a glimpse of the mate
that should by now be counted
as hopelessly lost.
Reblogged this on Stuff for a Slow Day.
I love this poem
and I also meant to ask, do students still have the wonderful leisure and support that is absolutely required to become a poet these days? Or are we mostly slamming them into computer programming classes (and the like) so that they can survive in the outside world.