whoever put them on,
but Luis he looked the best in them
‘cause he had that melon ass
and those tidy compact legs.
He wore those shoes with his short shorts,
strutting on their platform soles
until they almost were the death of him
when one day the right one refused
to follow the left one off
a curb on Sheridan Square.
Down he went on those precious knees,
leaving skin on the sputumous street.
Well, he said to the citizen
who levered him back to his feet,
Good thing I don’t have my pearls on,
I would have strangled myself.
Luis, he left the shoes
—a stain or two by then
confusing their zebra print—
to Steve, who left them to Larry,
who never got to wear them.