Mad at Slippers

We had no shoes, the concrete scorched, we danced
a jig across the parking lot. Like fleas
escaping water – little periods
on springs, except we cursed and yelped our pleas:
Invent the magic carpet please! Oh would
the car have been a tad-bit closer we
might still possess the bottoms to our feet.

If hardships built our character, this spree
was what made heroes out of us drenched kids
who made it home to find forgotten there,
five pairs of flip-flop gossips, cackling thongs,
that saw our bulbous feet and did not dare
to patronize because they saw we learned a fact:
these slippers gave the slip to us, and now somehow, were back.

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