I have a crack in the end of my shoe.
It’s not quite talking yet, but when it does
I wonder what it will have to say.
It’s seen quite a lot. Today alone
it walked past a dog kissing a dog’s bum,
two cars honking like posturing birds,
the crumbs of a biscuit spread out
wider than a biscuit, a puddle
when there was no rain in the sky and a
young man talking to himself in a way that
if it was Wednesday he’d be prepping for an interview,
but it was Friday so perhaps it was a date.

© Carl Burkitt 2020