She did have boots,
Big ones, cute ones, pointy ones and grubby ones.
They were made for walking; I have the scars to prove it.
In the years we were married she walked all over me
Not always in her boots,
Her words had far more impact
When emotionally charged
Like a work boot grinding you into the ground
Her words could make you feel responsible
For every ill upon the earth.
The beauty of wearing boots
Was you felt invulnerable
She was always right,
No matter how wrong her logic
She never or rarely lost an argument
You succumbed in the end
Trampled upon with relentlessness
You gave up only for the sake of your own sanity.
So the next day, in new pair of boots,
She’d step up to the mark
And you’d cower in anticipation of another humbling.
It wasn’t a matter of:
“ one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.”
It was every day.