These Shoes

How much did your shoes cost?

Sixty-four dollars?
A nightshift, or two?
Ten days of overtime?
Perhaps- a bus ride?

You see-
My shoes were free;
Well,
Only monetarily.

Bought at an excruciating price-
That I will be paying,
For the rest of my life:

With cracks in my shins,
And sharp pain in my back.
Due to the miles trekked:
From Jerusalem, to Jericho,
And back.

To trek in these shoes was costly,
That is what my doctor told me:
“Abigail, in all honesty…”

“Why didn’t you quit?”

Why didn’t I quit?
For freedom is not free!

Who would dare adorn these shoes?
If not you,
If not me?

The taxman has collected his dues,
Why else, doctor,
Would I be sat here with you?

Taboo is not even a question-
As the woe of these shoes,
Goes often unmentioned.

I am not here to start a movement;
Nor a passionate revolution.
So sordid is the one,
Who perpetuates that delusion.

I just want the next one to see,
The one after me, that-

Nothing.
Is.
Ever.
Free.