Just the shoes

Was it you that day?
I forgot to ask your name
on the steps – you fell
backwards, I turned
too late.  You, crumpled
cracked head at my feet.
We wait together on the steps for
help to come, head cradled in my lap
crying out for your shoe. It came off.
I guess, I don’t recall, like your name, when you fell.
‘Don’t worry about your shoes, you need to be still’
I said.  They came, you went in the ambulance
with both your shoes.  Funny how I remember
the shoes, but not your name.

Why those shoes? As I walked away
through the crowd.  Perhaps they
were fashionable, expensive.  I don’t know.
Ordinary trainers to me, a little scuffed
around the edges, like the rest of you. I realise,
scuffed around the edges is what people see,
the names they call you, what does it matter
when, if you reply or not it’s always the same meaning
‘not here’, ‘move on’, ‘don’t be in my way,’ When was it
that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and
gave you clothing? But your shoes the only pair you had,
no name to me just the shoes. Because you needed them.

Average number of feet anyone?

Save for those who have had an accident and have been unfortunate enough to have had a leg or foot amputated; the rest of us, I was under the impression (until recently) had two feet.

One would therefore assume that a simple purchase of shoes would require the same number of shoes as feet: Two.
Not so. Apparently some people may have more or less than two feet.  I wonder if they were concerned by the contents of their shoe box when opening it.

Will there be enough shoes for all my feet?  Or will I have spare shoes??
How did I come about this fascinating information?

The box from a recent purchase of trainers!!
box