I didn’t jog this weekend.
But I walked.
In high heels.
In black devilish little pointy heel
Did I walk and walk and walk.
On wide rough concrete floor
On the slimy tiles of the supermarket
Out onto the muddy road.
The next day still I walked
and walked and walked.
Swinging my exhausted feet
wrapped in soggy rain-soaked suede pump.
Stamped on the filthy paved sidewalk
Clanking up to the steel surface of busway station
down to the vast sea of shiny marble.
And what did I gain
from tiring my feet to hell
couples of blistered toes
peeled skin and heels?
But I do really wish I have the same spirit in life.
Swing my feet and take a plunge
and walk and walk and walk
and not just talk and talk and talk.
| from under the blanket, accompanied by chips, tea and blasting twisted christmas songs
dinadays 