Foreman Red turns to me
As I was reaching high to drop the shade curtain
At the greenhouse where I had an after school job,
And with a twinkle said “You know, you’d be a lot taller
If your legs weren’t bent-over at the bottom.”
~
And the rusted oval links
Looped like the anchor chain on a tramp scow
About ankles bare and burdened
Moored her feet to a world of pathos.
~
The blast ripped and tore
Dashing dreams of rehearsals at the bar
And nights upon the stage…
Leaving lonely one shoe
While scaring all souls.
~
Your feet are too little!
You balance perilously on the brink of daily disaster
Your purchase is too tenuous for the burden it bears
Your ballast has shifted it seems
As gravity plays with your other extremes
And yet you step forth to the beat of your song
And lithely dance-on the whole day long.
As if you never knew another way.
~
Fetishes aside…
I love your feet
Down at the south pole of your legs
Those impossible little ducklings
Darlings that waddle then proudly stride
As you swaddle them up in cotton and wool
They are definitely dressed for sock-cess,
And the toes painted harlot-red
Do so shine with a light
(With barely dab
On the littlest piggy)
Wiggling and twinkling
Like a newly discovered constellation.
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