I think I require slippers
or maybe fleece sled dog booties
like the lucky mutts in the Iditarod
because my feet are cold,
not because I have any intention
of running a thousand miles over ice
and rock and bare frozen ground
through the weak arctic sun
and more than one river,
under the blazing aurora,
with only brief rests on small piles of hay,
occasionally snacking on fatty morsels,
pretending all the bystanders clapping and cheering
don’t make me proud,
don’t scare me a little.
That sounds like a good, worthy time,
especially the part about slippers.

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Poetry, photos, musing

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