Shoes (Growing up is hard to do)
The day is at its thickest at noon
Hours, like cheese, sliced perfectly
To match the appetite for living
Big chunks of yellow moonlike promises
Someone’s food. Someone’s way of thinking.
The day’s best spent if dedicated to a cause.
Be it science or art or plain cooking.
(If you ask me there’s chemistry and aesthetics there, too.)
If you follow your dream anything can happen
If you hollow out a book and hide your despair inside
No one will ever know. But what’s the point?
Growing up often means finding the right shoes.
Not everyone’s a Cinderella. Sometimes the slippery
slipper slips away if you can’t be bothered trying
on and on and on. Growing up is hard to do.
Then, big ideas, to match the new shoes.
And moral ground to try them on.
Is it art? Or the art of living?
Of course, first you need to come to terms it’s not pointless.
Then you need to find the riverbed where you’ll flow.
Then you need to use your own head.
Then you’ll need to be able to support love
On your shoulders.
Then you must see it’s not straightforward, nor is it fair.
Then it’s usually too late. Then, you lose it all.
