To My Friend Left Foot
Dear left foot,
We have been friends since the day
I put you in my mouth. Don't blame
me, I was only six months, two days
old. I thought you were prim, proper
peaches. You were soft, tender, always
useful. Especially when I grew to love
soccer. 12 years of friendship became
stronger, through our teamwork, when
balls hit against your coke bottle curves,
I always tended you afterwards.
But I never expected to see you with red
gorges on your sides. You look like a
tomato dusted in snow, your chive digits
ever so thin. I could not stop smoking.
I should have tried when Dr. R. said
Mark, You have PAD, three months
ago. I wanted to save you. But, I am back
here, at Ave Maria Hospital driveway,
about to smoke a Camel, about to lose
my left foot, about to lose my friend.
I can't stop myself.
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