THE KISS THAT SAVED MY LIFE by Patrick Hicks

Polished shoes frame the opened earth,

flowers quiver near the fresh headstone,

the casket of another friend is lowered--

dress shoes sealed within, flowers dribbled on top.

My own dress shoes, buffed monthly,

come out when I carry caskets.

They stay in the front closet next to

my work boots, waiting.

I try to imagine a world where naked feet

are not decorated with toe tags.

They stroll instead through lush carpet,

wriggle in the sun, knead the softness.

In that world, shoes do not race bullets,

and flowers are only plucked after full-blossom.

from 'Shoes and Flowers' in The Kiss that Saved My Life by Patrick Hicks