Phil’s Feet
Written as an exercise at the Tuolumne Poetry Festival

One well-worn sandal on,
the other foot bare
resting sideways on the brim of his straw hat.

I imagine unspeakable things...
Does a woman actually share her sheets with those feet?

Feet so dirty
I noticed them yesterday

Then, even worse,
in my mind’s eye
I wash those feet,
soak them in a bowl of warm water

Scrub, scrub, scrub
like a washerwoman of old
Lye soap stinging my eyes
Pumice scratching my hands

Anointing a stranger
with lotion and oils
Exaltation, revulsion
What is this compulsion?
My stomach writhes
like a boa constrictor

Feet so dirty
I noticed them yesterday