Home » Poetry » Day 167 – Hoofin’ It

Day 167 – Hoofin’ It

I don’t mind, incidentally,
what the city lets loose on the small;
privileged enough in my own mind
to lay foot to its cracked expanses of tar,
to pound down its long streets in between,
disrespecting, zig-zagging in haste,
the other late machines who haven’t got time
to enjoy the raw ache that I know.

(I once avoided all banana flavoring for a month)

I don’t mind, incidentally,
given the choice, joining the ranks
of the city’s rebuffed- bus patrons,
hoofers, skateboarders, environmentalists-

(I crashed my car so I did that)

I don’t mind being an ant underfoot,
earning my place, my ok to go;
I insisted it.

(When my car was fixed I had banana cream pie
every day of the week,
sundaes and yogurt and dried chips and taffy.
You’d never seen a happier girl.)

And when I look at those maps in the big book
which I keep under my bed,
I know that the city would mind, incidentally,
if I took what I hadn’t earned.

I don’t mind first being small,
and I don’t mind having sore feet.


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