Secondhand Socrates

Secondhand Socrates

I’ve noticed something peculiar

while sipping my morning jo.

Nothing too serious, mind you.

Just something you need to know.

.

There’s usually a man out there

who asks for around six dimes

but

I’ve seen a few different men today

In fact, they’ve changed six times.

 .

But that’s not even the weirdest thing.

No, I have far stranger news.

No matter how many come and go

they always leave their shoes.

 .

So one day I was curious

and I had to go find out.

Who they were, what they were doing,

and what the shoes were about?

 .

When I began to ask him questions,

he held firm in the wind.

Handed me a book

and smiled, “Take a look.

It’s worth the time you’ll spend.”

 .

So I raced through the door,

drew all the curtains,

and with some bourbon insistence.

I began to read,

Then felt the need,

To question my own existence.

.

I skimmed every sentence front to back

68 times, in fact.

Even the colons and paragraph breaks

had an everlasting impact.

.

There was neither author nor publishing date

and no footnotes to ignore.

But something was brewing deep inside.

I absolutely had to know more.

.

I barely waited till sunrise,

to meet him at their spot.

My tummy, my rumpus, my knees and ankles

were all tied in a knot.

 .

My silly heart had skipped a beat

when I saw no man was there.

All I found was the same pair of shoes

and a little blue note that said:

Share.