Shining Shoes

Comes a time
Morning rushing
through you like a freight train
You seek a newspaper
to polish shoes
like he did
On those rushed mornings
Headed for school

He'd look down

my feet ensconced in school scuffed
navy blue,
color of my life

Tersely, firm jaw working

Above a starched white collar
Take those off, they need a shine
Protesting was useless
I’m late, they’re Ok

Already, he’d be at the table

spreading a sheet of the Journal American
fishing out the small round can
from under the kitchen sink
Opening the folded rag, stained brown, and black and blue,
shiny and scented with the polish of a thousand
oxfords, loafers, wing tips.

In stocking feet I wait as he diligently applies the paste,
rubs and rubs and rubs
Then brushes and brushes to his satisfaction.
Here, he hands them over
His voice softer with the tone of a job well done.
My cold feet slip quickly into leather buffed to a comfortable shine,
I feel the insides still warm from his hands.