Listen To Your Feet
I'm tired of pacing these mean streets-
Dragging my feet along these hard-packed,
Rope-smacked, chalked up, sunbaked sheets
Of glittering concrete, lots cracked
From sucking and exhaling summer's heat.
Streets that brook no posture but the standing
Grinding arches, balls and bridges sanding
Bringing to mind no plan but quick retreat.
So, I pledged my feet a Wicklow shillelagh
And a green hill to climb up and down
And a while naked underground
Steeped in hot sand, beside a racing lake
A summer's breeze to floss between their toes
Then, up propped up, a nighttime of repose.
Comments about this poem (Listen To Your Feet by Morgan Michaels )
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