22. tiny feet
what if no poems come to visit?
what if we clean up the house, vacuum
the cat hair and dust bunnies, even
spray down the windows, and
no poem arrives to drink our wine
or eat our expensive cheese?
i’ve seen them strolling by
around five,
when the sun slides down to
cast enormous shadows from
their tiny feet.
sometimes they glance at me,
safe behind my spotty glass.
more often, though, they keep
their eyes straight ahead, as if
seeing a real friend, waiting with
open arms
down the street.
