New shoes –
apparently fifty per cent less likely
to chafe your feet.
“Grand”, I thought.
They were still dripping with shots and stills of last night.
(Enter – Cognition beyond the norm but the same routine appears, despite all. Present as not quite replete.)
I was sporting the oldest, newest boots in town.
… Betelgeuse, polka dot, cadence – with not just the least bit of Cordwainer envy as accompaniment.
My head was caught in a soliloquy of:
“Cut me up. Yes please.” Then on to:
“How far can I go with this new kinesis? Can I touch the stars?”
I got a bit weary, and bored to be honest.
I sat down,
and then embraced what I thought to be you.
Of course, I then fell into the most sylvan,
Took my new (old??) boots, very firmly off.
(Exit – Familiar, Salty, Peter-y air).