On an Infant’s Feet

/ /

Sta porco volante

Useless as they are to the swaddled baby, Its own two feet must wonder what they’re for, And will a time come ever when they may be Revealed as purposeful, as something more Than a frisky pair of mute and uncoor- dinated joy-toys, deliciously pink-toed. But that all changes once they reach the floor And find themselves, to their confusion, shod, Who blindly now must separately plod Through glebe grit and gravel on forced marches, Endure, along a never-chosen road, Blisters bunions corns and fallen arches, Until their owner shuts down, and—Good bye! Those little piggies never got to fly.