A pair of old worn leather boots
slung over a sagging telephone wire,
the frayed laces tied together in a barely decipherable knot—
that his father taught him
in boy scouts,
Tossed to its estimable height by a skilled teenager
on his fifteenth try
on a dare.
One of the souls barely clinging to its body
by the toe, the ominous wind threatening
to severe any remaining connection—
beyond hope of repair,
Frightfully displaying its present state.

The other remains in tact,
its rubber soul untouched by years
Yes, it remains intact—
but only in memories.
A remembrance.
In appearance,
still the way that boy left it,
Still the way he was.