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December 16

 

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE

 

 

The meal prepared from my cognition, the bread and jam of
humility, salad of expectation, roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie,
wait on the table to be devoured.  The
courses pass and come dessert my kindly intentions are cut to wedges and pushed
from setting to setting.  I can, with
dollop after dollop, cover the requisite desires of this tart in an attempt to
deny my addiction to fixing or I can serve up the plain truth.  I help and help and wander down roads looking
for lost puppies to return to their homes. 
I must admit my longing to lend support is sometimes half-baked, and if
kept to home and hearth it might serve me better and make a sweeter dish.  Assistance is best in proportion to the
meal.  I must live my life and save my
pie till last.

 

Hold each other's
hands but explore.

*

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet.

I have seen a woman cradle hers

and treat it like the dearest babe.

 

I know some folks who shun their feet;

can barely stand to think of them,

let alone to touch them.

 

There are the Mani-Pedi people

who leave it in the hands of others.

I met a guy who soaks them soft

and tucks little bits of cotton

under the corners of his nails.

 

I know too,

the woman with the snarling crusty dogs

that serve to others as a warning.

 

My grandma warns me

not complain about my shoes

lest I meet the man who has no feet,

but I doubt I would fit in his.

 

Vlog:  http://youtu.be/7eUgwQQ5ZPI

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault