The Cobbler

April 15, 2020 9 By Michael Daniel Aroka

He mended all shoes
The expensive ones
The cheap ones
The foreign ones
The local ones
Shoes that stepped all over
That walked everywhere

He really did all
Never caring
Never criticizing
Never discriminating
All shoes he fixed
Sewing each sole
String by string
Sole to leather

His none ever mended
None ever fixed
Not even an ounce
Ounce of thought
Thought of his shoe
They got torn
Soles got worn out
Holes peeped from front

Poor Cobbler
He treaded
He treaded on thorns
Walked on slime
Run on rocks
Traversed on hot sand
With not a nickel
On him
He was just a cobbler
A cobbler indeed

He mended all those shoes
Not cause he wanted
Not cause it was his wish
But cause he was obligated
His soul was dedicated to soles
Soles of filthy shoes
That carried stinking feet
That covered manicured toenails
That covered cracked nails
Crooked toes
Rough legs
Concrete soles
But he was to do so
Because it was his duty

What about his sole?
Once was smooth
Had straight toes
Smooth clean nails
That had never
Never known comfort
But now
Now they are beyond hope
Crookest of toes
Dirtiest of of nails
Rock hard nails
Roughest, scarred cracked sole
Yet still he worked
None mending his shoes
Don’t pity the cobbler
Sure ! Look upon him
Fine ! Laugh at him
But he is your slave
A fact if is
A slave to your sole
A servant to your feet
Alas ! Hail that cobbler
Oh yes ! A cobbler of your sole
Without his own sole for his soul.