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.
