By Thomas Page
I am student teaching a senior level class in Washington, DC. They have to write some poems on these prompts. I decided to try all 30 of them. However, I will not say what the prompt was but what it number was.
It’s hard to find shoes in a men’s fifteen
Especially shoes that are cool
And not just gray or brown
Or with the style of a garbage can.
It’s hard to find fun socks for a foot of my size.
Most are bleached white or wool’d black.
Most designs look like Picasso’s draft
Stretched over the trunk of my metatarsals.
I forget that some people not named page don’t have monster feet
And that their shoes are in fact normally sized
Just become Pluto to my Jupiter
Whenever I extend my legs to crack my cartilage.
I don’t really consider them
Unless I bump into the table leg
Or shove them under the driver’s seat
Barking like dogs in a crate.
However, I try to let the rest
In whatever weird way I position myself
On the beige spinny chair
In the theater room.