14 April 2008

Convenience


Hey,
when you walk all
over me, wipe your feet!
Boot prints aren’t discrete
messages; everyone can
see where heels and toe
impressions do not match.

I’m lying there observing
destiny – the place where
earth and sky conceive in
light – but you demur,
take the shortest route
you see from front
to back.

If you’re aware you’d try
to be a consequence, not
an act of jeopardy –
I will not alter that. You
could not see your fate
wore boots and walked
across my easy back.
© 27 March 2008, I. D. Carswell