I HAVE BAD FEET Poem by Ann Cotten

I have bad feet
I practice verse
unmissed am I
where strange lands were
I set utopian desire
lap words and never tire


I have bad feet
am writing
if asked and what I do
is seldom true
in any name or calculation
or trodden paths' elation


I have bad feet
the verses, ugly,
carry me at least
a little bit
but not quite up to where my friends
look friendly over gold-rimmed ends


most of the time I tire before
and my feet are
dirty and swollen
and full of bile
I land in my own kitchen, drink
at midnight in a glass of milk