Paws
He has
such tiny paws,
Jet pads
rough, soft,
Show no
damage at all,
No
wearing down
Through
the years,
His intrepid
escapades.
Why don’t
we make shoes
That last
half as long?
Little slipper-like
hooves.
He’s
built to last.
My own jaded
feet,
Skin and
bone,
Unbuilt
for running bare,
Designed
for injury.
I
imagine crowds
Of human-size
paws.
Surreal
collections
Of mismatched
ends.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 17 2020
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