Life As A Boot

There ain’t many places

as cozy as that box;

wrapped up in the paper,

the lid over the top.

But I got kinda lonely,

in that box on the shelf,

an’ I started a wishin’

I weren’t all by myself.

Then all of a sudden,

just outta the blue,

they pulled me from the dark,

and I discovered, “We’re two!”

Well, me and my partner,

we were put on display,

‘til in comes this cowboy,

to try us on, one day.

Lookin’ up at that cuss,

I was filled with such dread.

He was scrubby and rough.

Heck, he almost looked dead.

When he slipped in his foot,

there was just this one thought,

“Lord, I hope he put on

them new socks that he bought.”

We lived through that fittin’

and he took us on home,

slipped us under his bunk,

an’ left us there all alone.

Then Friday night comes –

he walks into the room –

he was all duded up,

like a flower in bloom.

“We’re goin’ out tonight.”

He says after a bit.

“There’s a dance tonight,

and I ain’t gonna sit.”

“We’ll dance with them fillies

‘til the cows start to roam,

an’ if we’re real lucky,

we might take one of ‘em home.”

Well sure enough,

he set out to shake a rug.

He screamed like a banshee,

and he squirmed like a bug.

He near wore our soles out

scootin’ ‘round there that night.

We fared okay, I guess,

but come mornin’ he was a sight.

When we wasn’t out dancin’

where he’d shake tail like a skunk,

he’d put us in that box,

and slip us back under his bunk.

Them was good times,

those nights out on the town.

We was lookin’ purty,

on the feet of that clown.

He’d scuff us all up,

with his two-steppin’ and swing.

Then polish and shine

the next day—first thing.

He’d wear us to rodeos,

or when sparkin’ a gal;

at church on most Sundays,

or out hangin’ with Sal.

He’d say, when he’d show us off

to the boys at the bar,

“Why, you can’t buy no better.

Look near here or far.”

But time passes quick like,

and before we could even tell,

we’d gone from “just for show”

to “I’ll wear ‘em down to hell!”

We moved from the box

to the corner of the room.

I got to feelin’ less like a boot,

and more like a broom.

It kinda hurt my pride.

I was too classy for this.

I was meant for show,

An’ a world of sweet bliss.

Then my ol’ pard,

who’d been mighty quiet ‘til then,

up and said somethin’

that made my heels start to spin.

“We’re boots for gosh sakes!

We’re made for work –

for ridin’ n’ ropin’

and for kicking up dirt.”

“We protect from critters,

varmints, and snakes.

We’re tough an’ durable.

We do whatever it takes.”

“Ever hear’d him say,

‘Tough as an ol’ boot’?

There’s a reason for that;

we weren’t made to scoot.”

“What we were made for –

well, we’re doin’ it now.

We was purty for a while,

but we gotta return to the cow.”

“That’s where we came from,

and that’s where we’ll go –

thru toil an’ sweat,

out in the sun an’ the snow.”

“We had fun for a spell.

We showed off our stuff.

Now it’s time we look past

all the shine n’ the fluff.”

“We work for a livin’.

We grind our toes in the sand.

We run down our heels,

and we walk across the land.”

“We’re just old boots,

an’ someday we’ll be old leather.

We’ll dry out and rot,

but we’ll be doin’ it together.”

“As time goes by

we’ll flake, peal, and crumble,

but through it all,

we’d do best not to grumble.”

Well, he put me in my place,

that ol’ pard of mine,

and for once in my life

I didn’t care for a shine.

I’m just an ol’ boot,

tough as my leather.

I’ll do my job proud,

but I won’t last forever.

–C.E. Lemieux, Jr.