A Pair of Loafers

It’s the shoes I remember the most
Tawny brown loafers, shiny
with tassles.
A prize possession for a guy with size-15 feet,
narrow heels.
Loafers don’t stay on feet like that, not easily.

The shoes a gift from a friend.
Too big for him, he said.
You try them.

Imagine a life of tie-shoes
and all the other guys,
cool guys
wearing loafers, shuffling.
Tie shoes.
Every day, tie shoes.

Then the gift. Shiny brown loafers
with tassles.
He put those shoes on,
felt cool,
felt sophisticated.
No double knots, no ties on these feet.

Maybe that’s why I remember the shoes
Standing on the curb
as I drove up,
Still on the feet, later,
though he was prone.