(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

Washing My Uncle’s Feet(For Buddy Brian)

My battered old uncle’s feet
soaking in
the blue porcelain bowl
delight in his
ooohs & ahhhhs

as the miles of farm
from dawn to dusk
(lost now in the warm)
fall off his
tired old gnarly feet

float to the surface
like scum & shaved calluses
I pat dry
his old knobbly toes
in the fluffy luxury
of a big white towel

laugh at him
telling the little boy I am
“Ah, good man…good man! ”


“Hello...hello? ”
“Earth calling Donall! ”
you smile.
“Penny for ‘em? ”
you laugh.

“I was washing my uncle’s feet...”
I softly cry
somewhere a long long time ago.

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Comments (1)

This is so touching and tender and full of love. Beautiful writing and story telling. I love your scenarios...your concepts and what and how you write about them! love Dee Dee