My battered old uncle’s feet
soaking in
the blue porcelain bowl
delight in his
ooohs & ahhhhs
as the miles of farm
from dawn to dusk
(lost now in the warm)
fall off his
tired old gnarly feet
float to the surface
like scum & shaved calluses
I pat dry
his old knobbly toes
in the fluffy luxury
of a big white towel
laugh at him
telling the little boy I am
“Ah, good man…good man! ”
***
“Hello...hello? ”
“Earth calling Donall! ”
you smile.
“Penny for ‘em? ”
you laugh.
“I was washing my uncle’s feet...”
I softly cry
somewhere a long long time ago.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is so touching and tender and full of love. Beautiful writing and story telling. I love your scenarios...your concepts and what and how you write about them! love Dee Dee