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Sapatero
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The Cobbler's Shop, Terry Rowe

No one could handle better, 

In the old hometown, in my own 

Memory, Tiyong Bencio’s ardabis. 

No one, not any of his children,

His assistants or apprentices,

At his small cobbler’s shop 

On the balcon of his house, 

On the road going to market, 

At the back of Cine Madrid.

Everyone who needed mending

Brought their pumps or chukkas

To the sapatero’s that faced

The foot of the hill where the road

Rose on the way to the hilltop church. 

If I bought a few bundles of firewood 

At market, or ran a quick errand 

As mother cooked the noon meal, 

I would pass Tiyong Bencio, intent

Over his job, wielding the awls and 

Hooked needles, closing cracked

Leather or gaping sole, sewing with 

Waxed thread in close saddle stitch.

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It would take long before I had my own

Shoes to make use of his services―

And that would be when I set foot

In college: maybe to repurpose

An uncle’s worn out pair to go

Decently with my gray pants 

School uniform. Tiyong Bencio

Was the sole go-to. That was before 

We discovered rubber sneakers. 

But when I could buy my own pair,

It was the last I saw of Tiyong Bencio’s. 

I had no longer use for repair. 

Now my memory gives him praise: 

I can picture him bowed over a shoe

Resting on his knee or slipped onto 

A last, unspeaking in his trademark

Hoarse grunt but threading and looping 

With infinite patience his awls

And needles, in his busy balcon,

Which everyone knew as Ben’s Shoe Repair,

Where no one could better handle his

Glinting ardabis. as I now murmur 

In homage, Tiyong Bencio, you were da bes!

 

Marne Kilates

5 October 2021

 

 

NOTE:

 

Ardabis. Curved leather cutting knife.

Last. Shoe last. A wooden mold shaped like a foot, mounted on a stand.

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