Kicks

My parents literally kicked me out of the house.
I asked them why they had to be wearing kicks
and they told me that it was part of a new
thing that was sweeping the country.
If it wasn't for my quick thinking
I'd have been in trouble, but I ran next door
and swiftly booted the family of four out
with my pair of doc martens.

The next few weeks would turn
out to be chaos as everyone
was out on the streets frantically
trying to deck, boot or kick they way into
any household they could find.
It all settled pretty quickly in the end.
We were in the wrong houses,
but we soon adapted to our new lives.
Being an accountant, a chef, a baby brother
and a teenage sister all at the same time
was never going to be easy, but you soon
caught on to the swing of things. 

Then there were those who were less
fortunate. It was no coincidence
that it was around that time that
the homeless were replaced with
those who'd only had a pair of loafers.
Some managed to argue their way
into bread factories, but found themselves
ill-equipped to cope with the pressures of loafing
at high demand and to the satisfaction
of impatient factory managers.
Others tried to argue that their footwear
were actually a form of boot,
but these arguments were shoddy
as hell and were quickly dropped.

We could do nothing but watch as the
loafer wearers dropped one by one
from the comfort of our homes.
When the last one passed away,
we mourned for days on end and swore
that we would do everything we could
to prevent people to ever be in a situation
where they would happen to wear
loafers ever again.

When the eventual ban on loafers
came into effect, we all breathed a sigh
of relief for our own safety.
It would also ensure that we would
live free from what was,
to some, quite frankly,
a hideous pair of shoes.