I have always appreciated my feet, even if they are just a little bit too big. They work well. There do appear to be some irregularities of my foot form, stance, and weight distribution, but I have walked far with what I have. In years past I have written two poems about my feet, go figure why.
Feet Poem #1
Oh, these feet of mine.
I depend upon them, stand upon them,
count upon them to step forward into the future.
Trouble is there has been too much past,
years and years of it.
I am on the shady side of fifty—fifty-seven to be exact.
and my dogs are barking, baying at the moon about how old I am.
They have something to say about every twist and turn,
every step, skip, and hop-along.
And mostly, it is ouch, ouch, ouch, oh that hurts!
I just do not know what to do for them.
I have bathed them, massaged them, even sang to them once.
I have sprinkled minty powders on them.
I tucked expensive gel pads tenderly under the sore spots.
Nothing worked, from first step of day to last, ouch, ouch, ouch.
Feet Poem #2
Teams of student doctors at the university examined my aching feet, $$$$, that hurt too!
They examined and consulted.
They x-rayed two thousand dollars worth of images.
One grand per foot.
They put their wise young heads together and determined,
there was nothing to be done.
They did not know why, but my feet might always hurt, I was old.
Would I like some pain pills? I declined the trip to la-la-land.
They spoke gently, looking at me with their clear, bright eyes, seeing how I took it.
Well, I am not taking it well, it hurts.
I still tend to my feet as if they deserved it, my bi-pedal locomotors.
Feet of Annmarie Throckmorton-impressions obtained from a podiatrist 2012.
My Blue Painted Toenails In Sunlight And Shadow by Annmarie Throckmorton, 2012.
My Painted Toes-negative by Annmarie Throckmorton, 2012.
Resting My Old Feet On An Old Wooden Turtle by Annmarie Throckmorton, 2012.