Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Cobbler and the Shoemaker


 

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There are many that shall remain nameless here.

A difference between them, but one in the same really.

Each dependent on more than steak and milk.

 

But breath of clove,

Tongues of wintergreen,

Hips narrow and bane,

A mouth with patient words.

 

We are but the Cobbler and the Shoemaker.

Two calloused, and breathing, skilled at our trades,

But poor in sight and with dirty bare feet.

 

I won’t trade you a penny for a spool of thread.

Nor, will I ever wear you without pride.

Only will this heart wind you up,

Tight like a child on a tire swing.

 

Watching you spin, happy and kept like

A curled updo.

Neatly pinned, with elastic.

 

You open up quite nicely,

The mender of these laced leather goods.

You are my awl,

In your presence I pule,

Knowing now, the slipper is too bitty for the foot.

Yet, we just make it fit.

 

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