Can you believe,
with one foot gone,
I injured the other?
Now a two front war confronts me.
The ankle on the left
hardly able to bear lifting,
the toe broken on the right
demanding rest
and leaving me screaming.
Trudging to the store
swearing at my feet
for being touchy and absurd.
I curse the toe for its pouting
and refusing to cooperate
in completing my errands.
I tell them both,
ankle and toe,
without me you are nothing.
Without me you’re unemployed,
so cease your waiting
and endless complaining.
I have to be about the business
of living,
and not listening
to the complaints of feet.
I must keep on dragging,
hiding their infirmity from neighbors,
smiling and greeting
as they bitch about the sun
being hot,
the rain being wet,
lovers ignoring them,
while I forebear their constant
grousing
with the patience of Job.