A684
I saw your boot yesterday
peeking out at me from beneath a blanket.
And it made me wonder who you might have been
before you were just a boot -
a red boot that looked quite heavy,
sticking out beneath that blanket.
I think the blanket was wool,
And I wish it hadn't been.
It didn't look soft enough -
your boot was already so hot and thick.
Something like this moment should have been much softer for you,
whoever you were before they covered you up with a wooly blanket,
knowing it wouldn't itch,
and hid what was left of you from passersby like me.
... Apart from that one boot the blanket couldn't reach,
because you must have been tall,
and probably a father, too, and many other things,
before you wrecked more than a day out in Cumbria,
and a once-beautiful bend on a stretch of perfectly good, English road,
where you just couldn't wait,
took the corner too quick,
and, head first, became a hot, thick, red, heavy, fucking upsetting boot.
What a bloody waste.
