Daddy's Shoes

My feet slid from front to back,
side to side, as I tried to walk
in those old brown shoes.
Slightly scuffed on the heel or toe,
Daddy's shoes were a symbol of power.
They epitomized the future of the world.
My world.

He would watch me clunking across the
yellow and white linoleum floor,
smiling an amused little smile,
and ask me where I was going.
"To work," I'd say,
dragging his black briefcase behind me,
my favorite bunny, Jack,
tucked gently under my arm.

Jack and I would play for hours on the sunporch,
conquering unknown worlds and
unscrupulous villians
until Mom called us in
for some cookies or a bath.

Reluctant to leave this creation of mine
I would return to my five-year-old reality
and the shoes to the closet
for another day.