Feet.

---

Serpentine currents, writhing over damp dust
picked up rain’s musk.
They cooled themselves as they coiled
through lawns, snaked along the gutters,
sniffed the moss
where wall and pavement meet,
quietly brushed around my feet,
blew summer’s scent
about my face.

I had no taste for work today:
no hastening feet
picked up to meet a boring morning’s lateline,
they dragged the pavement,
kicked at grass that clumped the cracks,
sidestepped a dogturd, dribbled a bottletop,
scored a perfect goal between a lamp-post and the kerb,
then turned about
and walked me home.