Cold Feet Poem by Jerry Pike

Jerry Pike

Harrow, London, England

Cold Feet



Going to get cold feet,
I take off my shoes,
knot the laces together,
and stand, sinking while I write.
Maybe twenty on Caswell,
children thick on life,
parents-a-grown.
A human starfish
sleeks under the foam,
prehistoric emblem
for the coast.
I see your house,
grand as 1910
in an evergreen fuzz.
Sculptured slopes
tearing the seas edge.
Scarring beautifully,
that corner of heaven,
saved for the few.

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Jerry Pike

Harrow, London, England
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