A lone sole on a foreign shore

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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.

If you are adversely affected by the content please contact your nearest “singles” club for support during your crisis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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