A single leather boot stood guard
on a beach of stone, alone and lonely,
with no matched companion.
I wondered (emphatically)
who’s foot this boot belonged upon
a sea captain or a tattooed deck hand?
An Indian or an Eskimo
from Anchorage or Idaho
A fisherman or naval rigger
or a merchant man off a deep-sea freighter?
How did it come,
to land here on the sand
of this stony hidden cove?
Did it get washed over-board,
or was it thrown?
A leg attached when it splashed
into the sea, a tragedy a drowning
in the deep salty.
Or just a surplus sole
too pedestrian alone?
A victim of the cult of one.
Consigned into a waiting ocean.
old and worn, of use no more,
discarded like a used up whore
tossed ashore by uncaring hands.
Washed up on this pebble strand.
A lone sole alone on a foreign shore
Image by Adam Kavanagh
This poem is based on a true story, no riggers were shot, accidentally or otherwise during the writing of this poem.
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