(A piece of autobiog. from circa 1949. Sadly, the highly radioactive machines referred to were banned years ago -- even before the days of Health and Safety! But they may explain why a friend of mine claims to have webbed feet and hair between his toes.)
New Shoes
New shoes for school, at least four pairs a year
of stout black lace-ups; and extremely dear
at seventeen-and-six my mother thought
for feet which grew much faster than feet ought.
Shoes bought so large they scarcely touched most places
no matter quite how hard she yanked the laces
and packed each gap uncomfortably full
with insoles, thicker socks and cotton wool.
At last, to prove my point, we’d peer at those
small, wriggling skeletons inside my toes,
cavorting with at least an inch to spare
in shoes near large enough for two to share,
beneath us on the green, fluorescent screen
of Harrod’s X-ray “Check-Your-Fit” machine --
which left my mother with the false but firm
belief the shoes would last me one whole Term.
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