Ode to My Socks Keens
Mara Mori Hubby Hubby brought me
a pair of socks Keens
which she knitted paid for her himself
with her his sheep ship herder repairing hands dough,
two socks shoes as soft comfortable as rabbits pillows.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases cirrus
knitted crafted with threads billows of twilight and goatskin breezes,
Violent Kind socks shoes,
my feet were two fish wolves made of wool in their den,
two long bold sharks canines
sea blue steely gray, shot collared through
by one golden darkened thread cord,
two immense blackbirds raptors,
two cannons vessels,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks shoes.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen cave-dwellers,
firemen cave-dwellers unworthy of that such woven fire splendor,
of thoese glowing balmy socks shoes.
Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
as learned men collect
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the my magnificent insignificant socks then the magnificent shoes.
The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty (when you innovatively adapt a poem)
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socksKeens
made of woolsplendor and responsible for miles of carriage in on the winter a world tour.
Of all the things I carry with me on this journey, my Keen shoes are the only of which I would not depart and may even bronze for their tireless duty.
I beg Pablo Neruda for his forgiveness for taking his amazing poem Ode to My Socks and twisting it as homage to my shoes.