SOLE CRUSHING

I stepped on a bug

then I stepped on another,

maybe they were cousins,

or maybe brothers,

‘cause they two looked alike

from what I could see,

which if those bugs could talk,

they’d be sayin’ ‘bout my feet.

bugonawall_phone_edit

(Photo: PaC)

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FLIPPING FRIGHTENED

When I woke up this morning
The weather was hot.
But where were my flip-flops?
Did I know? I did not.

All through the long winter
All we wore was boots
Then suddenly the
Flipping trees had flopped fruit.

So in my bare feet
With nerves that were fraying
I searched for my flops
While I shoulda’ been playing.

Being flipflopless
Was terribly scary,
‘Till the moment I found’em –
That flipped on my merry.

‘Cause nothing says good times
Like flops on your feet
Not inside the house
But out on the warm street.