Dirt on Your Heel

The gentle bend of your foot,

As my hand softly curls around it like a lock of hair.

Specks of week old purple nail polish

Still cling to your nails.

They beg for a much needed trimming.

The end result of a not so perfect paint job.

I admire the dirt on your heel,

A picture of youth.

Of what once erected me-though lost somehow.

Etty bitty hands covered in Cheetos stains,

a grin bearing two missing bottom teeth,

The top two hang only by a thread.

A casualty of aging.

Though you are unaware of this,

In wait for the money which will reward your loss.

You live at an age where farts make you giggle,

as if someone were tickling you.

Singing silly little made up songs,

Is as normal as an everyday dreaded after lunch nap.

All too soon, those naps are gone,

And the sight of dirty feet will make you cringe.

You will grow and pray that the dentist can save that back tooth,

And afford that manicure.

I won’t tell you this, though.

My youth is only a memory,

That I now, can only enjoy,

While watching you.

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Tags: erected, literature, nail polish, paint job, poem, poems, poetry, poets corner, softly curls, writing, writing poetry