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