On my back, shitty mood, watching my feet go pigeon-toe to splay, duck-foot and back again, like a pair of windshield wipers. I tell them stop but they pretend not to hear me. My disembodied brain cedes command: I'm the audience. They’re smacking each other, like Punch and Judy They’re singing duets of the synchronized swaying kind. They’re making love, massaging grateful insteps, which could be why they won't stop when I tell them. And now in an interval. the big toes sidle together, nodding in agreement, tsk-tsking my afternoon lassitude.
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Reminds me of my mother's toe :)
I feel you