Thrift Shop Boots

Forward - I have come to realise, I like to write poems that tell stories both real and imaginary. This one was inspired by a recent purchase from Shrub, Edinburgh's Zero Waste store.

Thrift Shop Boots

The colour of highland heather,

old and worn like skin,

with creases in the places

where the leather’s given in.

The soles are nearly through,

the heel slants to the left

and when I put them on

it feels as if it’s theft.

I bought them at a thrift shop,

a second hand store

and now it’s got me wondering

what other things she wore.

I imagine her in skirts that flow

in multiples of layers,

a gypsy scarf wrapped round her neck -

a carnival, soothsayer.

Rings glittering on her fingers,

a head of curly, auburn hair,

a smile that’s so beguiling,

a face that’s, ‘oh so fair’.

But when I put those boots on

I feel the strangest of sensations,

prickling up and down my spine,

I am the queen of all temptations.

When I put those boots on

I sashay as I walk,

my hips sway in a rhythm

and my voice lilts when I talk.

I can sense if you are happy,

I know the sadness in your tears,

I catch glimpses of your future,

I see through you - to your fears.

Those boots of purple leather

have an ancient history,

a past, present and future

that is surely not for me.

So I will return them to the thrift shop,

for someone else to buy,

a girl with curly auburn hair -

and a twinkle in her eye.