These two left feet of mine,

they get me places.

Neither in grace nor style,

but I end up wherever I must,

mostly on time.

I’m well-aware

of how I happen to be

positioned,

I feel each fluctuation.

With the gyroscopes in

my ears, I remain

level-headed

no matter how I crane

my neck.

Featherless biped,

I pole vault with each pace,

leap and bound;

not enough drag to stop me,

not enough lift to send me

soaring.

Maybe,

if I push a little harder,

I’ll get somewhere.

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