my shoelaces got caught in a street puddle, and there, I saw my reflection

This poem is a unique twist of perspective and word play. Perspective: you, the onlooker, the subject; I want the reader to ponder what they read, including how the title ties into it all. Enjoy.

*
Old Charlie Spatz can be

seen scoopin up old, used cigarette butts

off side-streets and sidewalks, a product of 

a broken system that talks in mute tones

in moot tones

I didn't see Charlie until I tripped over his feet, poking 

out from worn out shoes, shoes without laces

toes without a sock

A slight trip
and Charlie doesn't move
I assume 

he's just sleeping

Assumption is a privilege;
a nonchalant mentality

we call this ignorance.

we 

all tip-toe tight rope lines of bare feet and laced shoes

both my shoes have laces today.

I left Charlie behind me with bare feet. 



**

My name tag reads
"Charlie Spatz. Age 42"

Scribbled letters in #2, and my fingers still chalky gray from the use. 

I don't remember when I started walkin
but now I find myself crossin the green

to test the luck I've never had

is it sad

that the last time I felt hope was 
when I found myself crossin gray, standing with out-stretched arms
with closed eyes,
and bright white lights bask me in a glow that illuminates

that illuminates me
that illuminates me

that illuminates me with freedom!

I don't remember when I started walking

but I remember when my legs stopped working and my feet stopped 

trying and my hands forgot how to go about tying 

shoelaces

shoes with laces

My name tag reads
"Charlie Spatz. Age 42"

Scribbled letters in #2, and my fingers still chalky gray from the use.

Surprised my hands still remember 

my head still remembers

Surprised my hands still remember how to write my name

both my shoes have laces today

untied

but there's no use in re-learning to tie these shoes today
when tomorrow is full of

 bare foot promises

promises of bare feet

promises, bare.

but both my shoes have laces today.