My son says I have yucky feet.
The truth is I have only one yucky foot.
It’s yucky
because there are tiny beer-drunk
spiders crawling over its surface
and around the ankle.
I don’t know precisely how it started.
And I don’t know why
they’re only on one foot.
I’m only 50.
But that foot’s 70.
The other is 30.
If I were
a percentage, I’d total 100.
But I am no
percentage, I am a human
with a portion
of me that’s yucky,
maybe even disgusting.
Put on some socks,
my son insists.
What he means is I should spare his eyes.
I should spare
both of our eyes.
No one needs my 70-year-old
hoof in their life
is what my son implies.
And reaches for his
Lego Creator Set.
All Rights. M.P Powers.
