The Shoe

Please tell me your tale of woe,
On this bright and sunny day,
Of how you came to lie,
On the shoulder of the highway.
You lie there, as cars zip past,
As quickly, as if to fly,
With dust, a swirl, as they pass.
Did somebody, cast you out,
As not quite fit to wear,
Or if you were about,
To be thrown, into the air?