h1

poem 1

April 2, 2007

Two of them,
   both, green-strapped.
Often, they are the break from
   covered toes.
Often, they are a foot’s vacation.

How can they, then,
   all hurt to stand on too long?
How can a break from work be painful?

Perhaps,
   the work ethic,
   the pace of normal shoes
Is better for my industrious walk.
The sandals slow my pace,
   make me lag.
Force my spine upward.
It hurts.

It is as though I’ve forced my feet to read Dante,
Or take a vow of silence.

It is virtue in the sandals.
A resort,
   where I learn to plow and chop.

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