Visiting the Podiatrist

'What have you been up to lately?'

he asks, as he settles my feet,

and I say, 'Poetry'. It's always poetry.

The big, curved, metal clippers click

as he enquires, 'How long

have you been writing poetry?'

'Since I was seven,' I say,

and then he remembers. 'Oh yes,

You told me that last time.'

Out at the reception desk,

Teresa's typing briskly

in a staccato clatter.

In here, Justin resumes.

'Do you have any special themes?'

'No,' I say. 'There are no unfit subjects.'

He laughs. 'Except, maybe,

visiting the podiatrist.'

I tell him about today's prompt:

Include one or more sounds.

I mention the clippers and the keyboard,

and some rustling of paper out there now.

'And the low hum of the air conditioning,'

he adds with a small flourish. I tell him,

'Ah, you're writing your own poem now.'

'Do you know any poems of Kipling?'

he asks suddenly. 'I live in Kipling Street.'

I tell him Kipling wrote novels and stories too.

I tell him that Kipling's most famous poem

is 'If' and how I dislike it. I recite

a phrase or two. He Googles the rest.

We get onto war, and the state of the world.

He asks if there are violent, hating poems,

seems to have encountered only the uplifting.

I talk of ancient times, other cultures;

guess that readers might prefer gentler stuff,

so that would be what lives. Then I remember rap.

'Rap's full of all that. It comes from

the disadvantaged. They have cause.'

'I forgot that rap's a kind of poetry,' he says.

I'm ashamed that I forgot too. 'Often

very good poetry,' I hurry to say, 'Even if

I don't always like the message.'

He lets my chair down. It’s a slow chair,

soundless. My feet feel so comfortable,

it’s as if they no longer exist.

Teresa books my next appointment.

I ask about her beautiful accent. (She lilts.)

Swedish, and she lived in Scotland.

The phone rings, loud and brassy.

I wave and walk out on to the street,

listening to my own light footsteps.

31 Poems in 31 Days (Poewar / Writer's Resource Center). Prompt: Include one or more sounds.

Submitted, a year later, for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #275.