Posted in Fiction & Poetry

The Sage


My poor old feet were younger then

I remember when

Platform shoes were all the rage

With jeans with dresses

That’s all you wore

For 8 hours as a clerk in a department store

But fashionable I was going to be

Hell or high water

My poor old feet and me


I remember how the balls felt

I limped when no one saw

Calf muscles joined in stretching aches, pointed toes

To kick them off what a blessing

I feel it to this day that relief from pain

What crazy thinking yet I wouldn’t sway

I had my way and that’s how it would be

No suffering too great in the fashion industry

For my poor old feet and me


Working at a bank, Corporate Teller, here, here

Fancy title at least there I could hide

I slid out of my heels behind the counter

Where no one could detect out of sight

Should I walk to the vault back on they went

One woman asked how I did it all day

To be able to stand walking with such grace

I confessed I did not leave them on

Watch now as I return I’m shorter you see, naturally


Loving my secret she knowingly smiled

Noticeably I stood lower to the ground

So you see it’s possible then

To exercise some sense as one moves on in years

To learn a few tricks and be comfortable while looking chic

Take practical steps

Pun if you will

Be a good friend when you can to your poor old feet

That’s the trick





I’m a self-published author, blogger, grandma, mom, auntie and friend... I’m also a TEFL instructor, have lived in a few other countries besides the US. I love walking, cooking, reading, traveling, teaching, learning, language, movies, vampires, mummies, zombies, other assorted creatures of the night, science fiction, romance, action, adventure, classics, Latin, Soave, Chianti, D’Abruzzo, Ouzo, Sambuca, Bulleit Bourbon, Plato, the ocean and tanning.

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