Toes Poem by Hans Ostrom

They're pudgy, failed claws,

private nubs that often

go public. We encase them

like jewels, divas, or prisoners,

let them out for fresh air



only sometimes. The curling

of toes, one knows, is

a practice that migrated

from branched peoples

hanging around long ago.



When people say, 'Kick up

your heels, ' they seem

to mean nothing.



Heel/toes, heel toes:

onward the masses walk hard

on hard urban surfaces.

It's the economy, stupid.



Our dogs is tired,

our gods are remote,

this is the greatest age

of toenail paint,

and I am the owner

of a hammer toe,

a hard name for a

soft undertow.


hans ostrom 2015/2021