My feet wait there listening, and when
they dislike what happens they begin
to press on the floor. They know when
it is time to walk out on a program. Pretty soon
they are moving, and as the program fades
you can hear the sound of my feet on gravel.
If you have feet with standards, you too
may be reminded - you need not
accept what's given. You gamblers,
pimps, braggarts, oppressive people: -
"Not here," my feet are saying, "no thanks;
let me out of this."And I'm gone.
-William Stafford
The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems
Small, But Good Things
13 years ago
2 comments:
Hmmm, I like that poem... Was someone thinking of dashing out of Brown like a feral mongoose? Nevermind the impossible analogy... I'm too tired. =)
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