Second Opinion

Expensive colors stretched
across sturdy rubber;
in the breadth of the heel:
a countdown for decay
from rebounds and overuse,
thick ropes
laced
through miniature holes

You selected, examined, handed
to me, every sneaker,
your nails trimmed but still
long enough to graze
the side of my palm
when I retrieved each shoe
from you

I was too glazed,
remodeled by the uncovering
of simple excitement
in watching your grip
before its release;
your hand loose
as I helped you choose

High-tops, mid-cuts, slip-ons
I thought you were shopping
and I was your company,
a second opinion,
still too thrilled
to unwrap the warning,
encased in the plastic covering
of this painful metaphor unfurling