Pedicure
A poem by Joe Cottonwood

Pedicure

Your feet are not flowers.
They’re just, you say, feet
with purplish-brown veins on top 
and tortoise-shell calluses on bottom,
tuber toes in the normal number
doing the job they’re meant to do.
For that you say you’re happy. 
Covering the feet you wear boots
chosen for reasons you don’t
and can’t
explain but I’m guessing for comfort
and style. With furry tops. They look great.
You look great. And later you come home
pull off the boots
and stick your feet in the toilet bowl
first one, then the other
because they get smelly in boots all day
and the clean water feels cool.
You, me, we laugh as you dry them
and I say Oh how I love you. 
Then you pad to the kitchen
on your plain old pretty good feet.

About the Author:

Joe Cottonwood has repaired hundreds of houses to support his writing habit in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California. His latest books of poetry are Foggy Dog and Random Saints. He can be found on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/JoeCottonwood. His website is http://joecottonwood.com

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