Socks Outside

I took my lunch break wearing socks,
I walked outside for several blocks

My shoes were new they hurt my feet,
Turned my poor heels to raw, red meat.

The pain was getting so intense,
To walk much more just made no sense.

I took them off, I stepped right out,
The cool relief ’bout made me shout.

I walked as normal down the street,
In shirt, tie, pants, and stocking feet. 

I padded down the sidewalk there,
Met several, odd, inquiring stares.

Right in the heart of old D.C.,
My socks, to all, were plain to see.

I first went down to mail a card,
The pavement wasn’t all that hard.

I then sat in the sun to eat,
A sandwich full of luncheon meat.

Still wearing socks they felt so good,
Was feeling free of must and should.

When my repast was over and done,
I walked right back (I couldn’t run).

And this time kept my new shoes off,
I did not care if folks would scoff.

I stepped into the elevator,
I’d worry ’bout propriety later.

I got back to my desk, my space,
But torture shoes did not replace.

I think this has a moral, dear,
So lean way over, lend an ear.

If you wear things that make you vain,
but ultimately give you pain

Then stop, pause, halt, desist and quit,
and only buy things that really fit.