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.