I will miss these old boots
once like new, purchased secondhand from Trash and Vaudeville
black leather eight-hole laced
just tough enough to kick some ass
while my head bobbed along to sounds of The Clash
 
I will miss these old boots
the right tongue slipped sideways
no matter how tightly tied
the left never moved; I never knew why
 
I will miss these old boots
how they slogged in slow-motion on the sticky stained floor at CBGBs
waiting for the late set to start
 
I will miss these old boots
scuffed and shined
for all occasions— record shopping on Bleecker St. and grandma’s apartment at Christmastime
 
I will miss these old boots
mud massacred at music festivals
on Randall’s Island or anywhere, maybe somewhere by the Pennsylvania border?
 
I will miss these old boots
clumsy clunking through an open window
sneaking away to the parties thrown for no occasion
only a temporary engagement for disillusioned youth
 
I will miss these old boots
splashing through curb corner puddles
on our way to a show at the Knitting Factory
 
I will miss these old boots
criss-crossing in my nervous wish and want
as Mikey B. leaned in for our first kiss 
and my heart went Kerplunk!– synchronized with songs strung on the mixtape that served as our not-so-cinematic soundtrack
 
I will miss these old boots
dangling dangerously loose out the window of Jennifer’s ’89 Bronco
as the sun set on a day ditching a toll & catching waves on a Long Island beach
the summer after Mikey B.’s kiss flew to another girl’s lips
 
I will miss these old boots
posing as professional for my first job interview
knowing the truth trapped tight under trembling toes
 
I will miss these old boots
because no other sound matches their cadence on cobblestone streets;
I close my eyes and hum along to the bouncing soles’ beat from the day I met the man I married in the church mere steps away from where he and I,
we began
 
I will miss these boots
because the miles we shared once seemed
endless, boundless, promised (forever)
 
I will miss these old boots
especially when I recognize their wear,
the exhaustion of an existence bearing the weight of a life in perpetual motion
after more than a quarter century I laid them to rest in a box
too large for their size, too small for their guise
 
 
I already miss these old boots.