They sit in a row <br />outside the kindergarten, <br />black, red, brown, all <br />with those brass buckles. <br />Remember when you couldn't <br />buckle your own <br />overshoe <br />or tie your own <br />overshoe <br />or tie your own shoe <br />or cut your own meat <br />and the tears <br />running down like mud <br />because you fell off your <br />tricycle? <br />Remember, big fish, <br />when you couldn't swim <br />and simply slipped under <br />like a stone frog? <br />The world wasn't <br />yours. <br />It belonged to <br />the big people. <br />Under your bed <br />sat the wolf <br />and he made a shadow <br />when cars passed by <br />at night. <br />They made you give up <br />your nightlight <br />and your teddy <br />and your thumb. <br />Oh overshoes, <br />don't you <br />remember me, <br />pushing you up and down <br />in the winter snow? <br />Oh thumb, <br />I want a drink, <br />it is dark, <br />where are the big people, <br />when will I get there, <br />taking giant steps <br />all day, <br />each day <br />and thinking <br />nothing of it?<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fury-of-overshoes/
