Shoes of Aquarius

The year was 1969,
The Age of Aquarius,
She teetered on my platform heels,
With a gate precarious.

But time gave way to family,
So she would deposit,
Me in the deep recesses,
Of her walk in closet.

And one day while sorting out, She,
Gave a rueful smile,
Thinking it highly unlikely,
I’d return to style.

And so into the dark confines,
Of a donation drop,
I ended up gracing the shelves,
Of a local thrift shop.

Where the young girls would laugh at me,
And mock me and deplore,
And say “Oh God these look just like,
Some thing my mother wore.”

And after years spent on those shelves,
I ate the bitter pill,
Of being deemed unsellable,
And transferred to good will.

Where I stared at dingy walls, The,
Army of salvation,
Which without doubt marked the height,
Of my humiliation.

The laughter would continue,
And I would do my time,
With no one to dare to spring me,
For $1.99.

Until one day a girl came in,
And so did drop her jaw,
With a look not of derision,
But more like that of awe.

Exclaiming her excitement, She,
Could not believe her luck,
To have me in her clutches,
For a couple of bucks.

And treated me as a piece,
Of the utmost refinement,
And to the next thrift store I went,
But now on consignment.

They put me on a pedestal,
And just like days of yore,
I was treated as the finest,
Item in the store.

Until that fateful day came by,
And I was blown over,
As who did walk into the shop,
But my dear first owner!

Who looked me over wondering,
Although she did not know,
Whether I could be that same pair,
That she wore years ago.

But either way she insisted,
And tried to make an offer,
Resolute was she to bring me,
On home to her daughter.

Alas no deal was made that day,
So ended the exchange,
My vintage status valued me,
Well out of her price range.

This poem is dedicated to my sole sister and fellow blogger Joanne Sisco at Β


43 thoughts on “Shoes of Aquarius

  1. My wife isn’t allowed those heels although even now she’d like them – when in drink she tends to fall over! Jolly good stuff young Marissa. I shall forthwith visit your sisters blog to see if she is as bonkers as you!

    • Thanks for the tip off. Just me and my knack for computers. Should be okay now!! As for your wife, yes, I’ve near twisted an ankle or two on those plenty of times and I don’t even drink!!

  2. Ah, the ultimate remorse. Money can’t buy you love. So great, Marissa. I remember my classmates wearing those shoes, too. Wowee! While I was sporting my forest green elephant bells.

  3. Brilliant!!! And how true… my daughter lives in vintage, and she is but 29! As for me, I figure it is uncouth for those of us who ARE vintage to wear vintage. We just look old. But my daughter could surely rock those clogs pictured… in fact, she has a pair almost identical, but with a strap behind the heel. She fashionably teetered around Italy last summer in those clog-hoppers. Awesome! xx MH

    • Oh yes, I absolutely agree. If you try to rock a vintage style that you actually wore before they were vintage, there’s something definitely wrong there. All the same, I could see you pulling off some looks that many grandmas could not!!

  4. I love it!! πŸ™‚
    I never wore those (I’m learning to walk on hills just now… I vacuum and cook with them on… But the rest of the outfit is my home clothes πŸ˜€ )

  5. Look there came a point for me that I just had to feel good in what I wore not so much as who was looking. When I was young I cared but not so much anymore. Great poem “M” you are a rhymer and a good one at that

  6. I love, love, LOVE this! Not only the actual poem and the story within the verse, but the way you are able to write from the viewpoint of an inanimate object with such skill! Way to go! ❀

The Blood Trail Starts Here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s