The New Shoes Poem by Morgan Michaels

Every time I wear my good new shoes
doesn't it just rain?
and not just pennies from heaven.

It rains-no, pardonnez, - pours
soaking sole to toe
my costly, good, new shoes.

It doesn't matter what the weather says
a propos precipitation-
I but need to slip them on and...thunderation,

down, down, down it comes-
starting out with a spatter,
turning into a very... serious matter;

Whether they be loafers, like their buyer
or if they've laces;
ostrich, suede or

patten leather, as the case is,
pink, maroon or just plain blue,
It's irrelevant, if I've spent

more than a fiver on them,
parapluie or no, so
whether they come from Sims

or lordly Lord and Taylor-
off the rack at Saks
or lowly Army Navy,

down, down, down it comes
I'm just letting you know
(baby, it's uncanny)
whenever I wear my old, new shoes