Log Cabin Chronicles
Ode To Feet
DOUG TANOURY
I have seen poetic feet so perfect, The very smallest units Of patterned stress, Soft idioms of Iambic And drum beats of Anapestic, That march across the carpet In measured meter toward full-lengthmirrors.
I am the bard of bare soles And naked ankles, Of fallen arches and Swollen heels, Of toenails Pedicured and painted, That catch the light Like so many cut sapphires, All arranged In descending order of size.
I have crafted couplets in Trochaic, And started the heartbeat of lines in Spondaic, For I am the poet of feet, Perfect and imperfect, Poetic And otherwise, Of bunions, bumps and bent toes, Carried within or laid upon A pump, mule, sandal or thong.
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