Obama and the wooden shoe of paradise
It was in the evening, as I recall, that Obama, before he became the high falutin’ official that he is, was talking about the wooden shoe of paradise.
No one contradicted him of course, but some of us, rolled our eyes knowing he wasn’t going to be the Messiah. Ted K gingerly laughed at us and said not to worry, that it was all going to be okay. ”
The wooden shoe of paradise. What a fanciful dream that was. I saw her in looking at me through an old photograph and we stood, connected. The wooden shoe stood in the background, its mission accomplished and for now, all we had were tear stained memories and frost morning of alabaster sitting on the rims of our coffee cups. She knew the score, before I ever did.
Dog was sleeping on the couch and the priest stood by, gently pushing him off. “That is some feller you got there” said the priest to me. “I know” I said not wanting to engage further with him. I kept coming back to that wooden shoe. The dreams unfulfilled, the laughter quenched, lack of thirst in a ballroom that had been deserted for years. No one danced here now, only me and a few other fools.
Do you remember dancing with me? Do you remember soft velvet touches on the dance floor with the lights dimming, the heartbeat skipping and the lazy tracks of the DJ were laying down the pathways of our love? I thought so. Hard to forget the future before it begins.