Pavement: A Poem

Feet, I am used to
I prefer them, no shoes no socks

Free falling and dancing

Rain wetting but never soaking

Creating the sound of African drums

They vibrate from soul to sole

Soles from souls seeking to live longer or breath lighter or

Exist easier
Are candy to my sweet tooth

I am happy to have you walk here.
I heard they planned a march

There are whispers that people are coming

In unison they will touch places that feet haven’t touched since horses

That horses haven’t tread since cars

That cars and bikes tread upon but rarely appreciate

I am looking forward to the steady beat of pounding feet

In protest or counter protest

Use me for that glory.
Did you know that when iron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and hydrogen mix, they can stain

even the pavement?

Thick red mounds of liquid that splatter in spontaneous direction

reaching places that feet didn’t make it to

That hands and backs and head first dives

greeted me with looks so terrifying that I reached up to comfort them.

Tried to be pillow

Tried to be soft

Tried to be anything other 

than what I am

Feet, I am used to

I prefer them, no socks or shoes

Free falling and dancing

But now I’ve tasted blood.

I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind.

You can’t walk here.

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