These Feet

I forego the subway in favor of my feet.

They’re strong feet,

save for a weak ankle on the right.

They carry me over cobblestones and gravel, snow and ice, sand and rock,

they do not falter.

They cannot stand to stand.

Waiting makes them jittery,

waiting makes them dance,

-- a tapdance, so inappropriate in boots �"

they would rather be striding,

too fast, with a pace too wide,

too determined,

a heroine’s pace, or a murderess’s,

striding as though it mattered.

My feet have purpose.

They walk to their destiny.

They will not be driven,

braced against foreign motion,

dependent on the agency of public transportation.

These feet do not wait for subways.

They make their own way.