Random Pieces

© Elizabeth Larrabee

Reeking with the penetrating odor

of tanned leather and motor oil,

black monster machines pounded

clickety-clacks

until sudden silence

signaled a pay check on Friday.

Then the brick building was empty.

That was when curious kids peeked

through soot-streaked windows

of the Flint Shoe Factory wondering,

without it being on our conscious minds,

Were we the next generation

of cutters and stitchers?

Outside the back door we scavenged

through pieces dumped at random

piled chin-high.

Odd shapes and sizes

left from stamped-out uppers

of authentic cow-hide.

We raced home

with our precious batch of salvage

to cut and fold and sew tiny purses

or holders for our fountain pens.

Compare and share secrets

we had unlocked

from impossible triangles

of dyed-blue calf,

the stringy left-overs

of the apprentice,

or the rare find:

a soft suede rectangle.

Ah, what the imagination

could do with such a piece!

In winter the weary workers

were imprisoned

behind closed windows,

snowed in tight

with mounds of spiked heels,

patent leather tongues

and shoe shanks,

while we slid down the hill

along the side of the mill

on the whirling

tin tops

of oil drums.

© Elizabeth Larrabee

Earliest Recall | Lady Slippers | How Poor Were We? | Free Food

The Smaller The Bigger | Mud Flats | Speaking of Smells | Random Pieces

Growing Up the Hard Way  | No Bogey Man | Green Apples | Poor Buster

Up and Down | True Friends | Moving | Rosie's Hangout | Crystal Ball

You weren't so Hot After All | Haunts | On Acting the Way You Feel | Amen

E-Mail Liz Larrabee