The Chiropodist

  NaPoWriMo day twenty and poem number twenty is called The Chiropodist…


We talk of Italian shirts and Chinese food

as he takes a knife to my feet

and deftly slices away the effects

of the city’s pavements.

Alien corns are shown no mercy,

toe nail clippings fly in all directions

and my soles are buffed to perfection.

We inspect the finished articles.

He has sculpted two silk purses from sows’ ears.

Pleased with his handiwork

he points to the debris below.

I am repulsed yet strangely interested.

As I watch the Henry suck it away

I wander how many feet will fill him up.

I slide on my shoes and say goodbye

bouncing home on reborn feet.

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