You’re not having red shoes
In the shop Mum was cross
Please, Mum, they’re gorgeous
Red shoes no knickers, Mum’s mantra
Look, the heels aren’t that high,
I could dance all night in those
Oh, no you won’t – you’ll be back by ten.
Does that mean you’ll buy them then ?
We’ll see. Try them on.
Comes next Friday, excited
twirling this way and that
in front of the mirror.
First bra, first nylons
swirly circular skirt
frilly blouse, waspie belt all the rage.
And those shoes …
Dad takes one look and hits the roof
What were you thinking?
She’s only fourteen
Out of the question to go out like that.
But Daaaad …
For once on my side, Mum sticks it out
She’s only young once
let her go.
So I did,
at the school Christmas hop
had a breathtaking time
as I danced with a prefect
the new cricket captain,
red shoes danced all the way home
on cloud nine.
This is a re-blog from way back in response to Irene at Red Wolf Journal who asked for a poem mentioning footwear. The poem was originally written for Annell Livingstone’s book, Red Shoes.