ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

HE SOLD SHOES

He looked frail,
fulfilling a predetermined role.
A sentinel in a park, overseeing a grandchild at play.

All the while
his eyes are constantly on patrol.
He hears a dog bark, and thoughts turn to an earlier day.

He sold shoes.
For fifty plus years plied his trade.
Two years he's retired, he got tired when his wife passed away

Had to choose -
to sell up the home that they made?
Inspired he decided, the family home had to stay.

Stay he must,
his family and friends are his home.
For forty years he watched as his neighbourhood grew.

The home he trusts,
though he now lives all alone.
No longer the tears, when he thinks back to the life he once knew.

So he smiles,
as he welcomes us to his domain.
Proud Albury man, proud of his town and its folk.

'You'll drive for miles
as you set off to explore the terrain.'
'Take your time', and I listened to each word he spoke.

'There'll be snow
up there on the hills and in the town.'
'So rug up the kids', and he shivered to indicate cold

'Before you know,
it's summer, you'll want to cool down'
'Just do as I did, and head to the big swimming hole.'

'And in time.
you will fall deep in love with this town'
He gave me a wink, we shook hands and we said our goodbyes.

I felt fine
as I stood there and looked all around.
He made me think, and I started to see through his eyes.

Copyright (c) Allan Cropper September 2015

I like this Allan. An unusual structure, and the subject really appeals to me. Is it about a real person? I think one of the greatest pleasures of travelling this land is the interesting people we meet along the way - so much subject matter for poetry!

Cheers, Shelley

Lovely when a local shares their love of a place with you and you see it through anothers eyes. Every place has its own charm the sad thing is that often people who live there sometimes never see it.

Like Shelley I like the subtle rhyme as well in this piece.

Yes, Shelly, this was a man I met at a local park while he was watching his grand daughter at play. His name is Peter. He loved where he lived and was happy talk with me and to share a bit of his history and knowledge of the area.

Thanks Maureen. I was trying a different rhyming pattern. To be self critical, I think in parts it is a little forced and I struggled with meter. I find this happens more when you are treating factual accounts rather than waxing lyrical about ideas or feelings.