Van Gogh's Shoes

                             Van Gogh

VAN GOGH'S SHOES.

The shoes of an itinerant.

The shoes of a man 

Who walks onward, onward,

Always seeking, always doubting.

These shoes,

Thrown down carelessly

By a man

Who sleeps in his shirt.

By a man who smells of absinthe

And unwashed women.

He sits on the edge of his bed,

Looking at his shoes.

Trying to focus.

Trying to decide what shoes are for.

How long has he had these shoes?

Was he wearing them all those years ago

When, briefly, he knew love?

Did someone stand on them

To reach up to kiss him?

If only he could focus!

Did he walk the dreary streets

Of Borinage

In these shoes? They look old enough.

See! There is still a trace

Of coal-dust in the seams!

Dd he polish them, briefly,

For Paris?

Did his brother once say

'Buy some new shoes, Vincent!'

Or was that someone else?

Where did he walk today?

Ah, pollen!

From sunflowers!

The gold dust lies thin

On the  faded leather.

Or is that coal-dust?

Tomorrow 

What?

Ah yes,

He will put on these shoes.

He will walk down the street.

And buy......something.....something sharp.