My battered old uncle’s feet
soaking in
the blue porcelain bowl
delight in his
ooohs & ahhhhs
as the miles of farm
from dawn to dusk
(lost now in the warm)
fall off his
tired old gnarly feet
float to the surface
like scum & shaved calluses
I pat dry
his old knobbly toes
in the fluffy luxury
of a big white towel
laugh at him
telling the little boy I am
“Ah, good man…good man! ”
***
“Hello...hello? ”
“Earth calling Donall! ”
you smile.
“Penny for ‘em? ”
you laugh.
“I was washing my uncle’s feet...”
I softly cry
somewhere a long long time ago.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/washing-my-uncle-s-feet-for-buddy-brian/
