They are old, flaking,
Peeling from the root up, inheriting
That of some faceless creature before me,
Faceless but soulful and charitable and
Probably, but I'll never know.
And mine. Shaping and misshaping
Their worn out insides,
Letting them know they're mine now,
These twisted string ties are mine now,
These thick rubber roots are mine now,
O this glowing patent red
Was always mine,
I just didn't know yet.