Chucks
by J.M. Derig
We spent countless hours arguing
over who was right- Jamey and I.
To this day I still contend it was I.
In retrospect, it seems that our
Relationship was characterized
By trivial objects of our misgivings-
The parking ticket that she lost,
The birthday card that I supposedly didn't send,
My shorts/her shorts, prom dresses, the shoes...
The shoes! Yes, those fucking
Chuck Taylors that she knew I despised,
The ones with the duct tape holding
Them together and the ripped sole
That hung like a mock tongue.
It flapped rhythmically when she walked.
A pantomime. As if she herself were saying
"These are my shoes, green and ugly
And I'm bad tonight, so fuck you!"
Even more than those green shoes, I hate red.
And she knew that too! Anything red,
It doesn't matter- clothes, lipstick, food...
Maybe it's the denotations of colors,
maybe it's the vulgarity of red,
Or maybe red just plays on my fears and insecurities
With its lascivious presentation.
Anyway, one day, Jamey said, kind of offhandedly,
"I think I'll buy a red pair of chucks."
I had to tell myself over and over again,
They're only shoes, They're only shoes.
But that's the thing- they weren't just shoes.