STREET SMARTS
Sitting
On a standpipe,
I see clouds
Shifting overhead.
Near my shoes,
I watch
Streams of feet
With waves of purpose.
It’s nicer to look at feet
Than the masked look of faces.
Faces are lies that dissemble,
Feet unobtrusively walk forward.
I’d rather be a foot than a face.
Feet lead you somewhere.
Faces leave you guessing
What’s behind the topography.
If I knew the answer,
I’d have the key to the human question,
If it were posed.
With feet, you don’t worry.
You know feet are whole.
Feet grow tenacious roots.
There’s no contradicting feet.
Feet have no faces, just soles.
I searched along the newly mopped
Waxed floor for a clear print
Of your knees and crawling palms.
I crucify you so you stay in place.