They are the two that make loyal home. I am the only one who completes them. Two red sneakers with tattered soles and one goal like mine. Two who keep me company and never fail. Two best friends squeaking on the court. From the floor they pick me up, but I do know they can’t play for me.

Their unselfishness is dependable. They live in gym bags and lockers. They mold themselves around my punishing feet and never turn down a chance to work and tuck in their tongues without ever even saying a word. This is what they do.

Let me once forget to thank them, they’d both push on like an infinite battery, never stopping even when not appreciated. Go, go, go, sneakers demand when I play. They run.

When my sole is too tattered and my goal seems far, when I am a small, insignificant child amongst mighty men, then I say we do it together. When I am pushed, torn, and discouraged they’re by my side. Two who help without praise. Two without egos, but with generous, giving ways. Two whose only goal is to be with me.