By Julia Klimek

So, I’m telling you, 
Them shoes you wearing, 
Them ugly shoes caked with concrete and torn up,
If you was married, you’d be wearing better shoes.
Your wife would be nagging you, nagging, all day long
She’d be telling you to get new shoes. 
She the one for whom you’d be having 
The big reception up at the Islander Resort, 
Just in time before they renovated, like in your dream,
On the patio, umbrellas, and nice drinks for everyone,
And those little plastic thingies in the glasses, with the monkeys,
Or the swordfish? To stick the little olives on?
Those the ones I like, and I’m pretty sure they’d have them there,
And if they don’t, they sure ought to have them, I’ll tell you.
There’d be all your friends, and she’d already be nagging, 
Get-me-a-drink-this and get-me-a-plate-that, 
And: wear the good shoes, and so on, all evening long,
She’d be telling you. 
Not me, though, cause I’m just your good-time-girl, 
And I never nagged no one for nothing,
And I never gonna get married anyway, 
And nobody ever asked, so I am not gonna tell you
To get new shoes, or maybe even get them for you,
Cause that’s what wives do,
They buy their men new shoes,
Or they tell them, over and over, cause their shoes
So old and ugly. Like yours. 
But I’m just telling you, 
That’s what I’m doing.
You oughta get yourself some new shoes, man.

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Copyright Julia Klimek 2010