In Homage to a Shoe Shiner

Ezequiel waits, perched on his stool

Sat alone, the city passes him by.

I take a seat and he ousts his brush,

He scrubs my shoe and removes the dirt.

Filthy and grimy are Ezequiel’s hands,

Hands that feed his family of five.

A man from the highlands, he speaks little Spanish,

Here he has sat for many a year,

Giving splendour to the shoes of Lima’s subjects,

Practising this most noble of jobs.

He removes his polish and applies the paste.

He readies the cloth and folds it in two.

Buff, buff rings out as he brings out the shine

Many shoes he will rejuvenate today, like he has done mine.

He taps my foot, his work is done,

He charges a pittance, so I give him a tip.

My shoes are shining and his smile gleams too,

And as I walk away, I look over my shoulder.

Ezequiel waits, perched on his stool

Sat alone, the city passes him by

Lima, December 2018