I was going to say no to this suggestion from Claire, from Mary; I’m not a poet. On the other hand, it looked like more fun to join in, and I’ve written a few poems I’m not entirely unhappy with. Thanks, Mary. Thanks, Claire.
We say yes to the queue
of people who look like us.
Yes to the woman giving tickets
in exchange for our socks and shoes.
Yes to the wait on winter asphalt,
Yes to the doctor checking soles.
We say yes, I am ready
yes, hold my hand
yes grass, yes fire
at the brink
no. No, no. Our feet say no.
And yet the queue, the crowd, the doctor and the drummers;
and over there, our proud shoes wait.
We say, go. Plunge, wade, leap, whimper, hoppit!
Later, we hold our feet. We murmur to our toes.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.