Old Shoe

Fri, 12/28/2018 - 15:44 -- Phishie

March, march, march, marching to the beat

The rhythmic pounding of a hundred feet.

From porch to mill, making no profits

The sharp, stinging, rattle of empty pockets.

Yet another day, overtime with no break

The grinding metal jaws of one critical mistake.

A family in debt, a wheelchair brand-new

The sorrowful emptiness of a now useless old shoe.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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