Nothing Lasts

The strap on my leather bag broke,

Its usefulness gone up in smoke.

My old shoe repair,

Like most others, not there,

So on Google my fingers did poke.

 

I found a small old-fashioned place;

Good reviews from the neighborhood base.

So I brought in my bag,

A short walk, not a drag,

And the owner stitched it up apace.

 

Eighteen bucks, which I gratefully paid;

The repair looks like it was well-made.

I asked, “Why did it break?”

He said, “There’s no mistake.

Nothing lasts for all time, I’m afraid.”

 

For that reason, his business exists,

But since life has ironic-type twists,

In these sneaker-clad days,

Tradesmen’s work hardly pays,

Though his livelihood somehow persists.