Goodbye Shoes

Goodbye trainers, I say
to the bin
where they lay on top
of all the other rubbish.

The springy suede has worn
away to nothing,
and the once-fat laces
are frayed in places.

Crusted patch of vomit
on the toe
of the left, memento
of a long ago party.

Goodbye shoes, I say
again, remembering
the field. We all sat in
cider and sunshine-

later chewing gum, from freezing
on the steps
where we first held hands
and shared a red Marlboro.

Those fags nauseate me now
and I can’t drink
vodka again, I get so sick
at the thought of it.

Goodbye shoes, I close
the bin lid, blocking
the vegetable smell.
Where will these new shoes carry me?
What stories will they tell?