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Concealment
 
maybe
old boots
are just your way
of saying
so much for pretenses
and mud packed avenues.
 
this is Arizona after all.
 
we don't get a lot of rain.
 
dust, yes.
some wind.
 
both I could live without.
 
but here you are
strutting around in broken
down leather, steely toed
and rudimentary, cracked
and creased as if you've
traveled up and down
a beaten path, loving every
inch of height they bring you.
 
and there you go
tracking nothing
but a dry wash,
splitting air 
with every step,
candidly foaming
at the sole.

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