It is nearly time

to put my well worn shoes

at the back of the wardrobe, making sure to

cover them up so

nothing falls in

and causes me to yell out in surprise

come the middle of January

when I start this madness

once again.

Surprised that they have lasted all year,

the red boots, have served me well

and deserve the foot rest

that this festive period

that bleeds into New Year hope

and dreams already dashed

as other’s resolutions canker and spoil, provide.

I have walked in these boots,

I have maintained my one dark blue jacket,

though small holes have started to tear

at the thread, caused by pencils over

sharpened and constant lightning

bolts of ideas jotted down, in cold

darkness discarded and dejected

never breathing life.

All will be locked away now,

no need for boots when slippers

and hole in big toe socks

provide a sense of comfort,

worth hiding against the winter cold for,

wrapped not in layers

but in home, where hibernation should

be a pleasure for all, away from the slush

and the biting tongue of cold damn air;

my boots are soon to be locked away,

polished again in several weeks time.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017