broken steps

two left feet, advancing Chaplin style
never any good for secret dancing
paired in romantic accompaniment
walking alone, I forever turn at odd angles
retracing and recounting my steps
which, inspite of myself, have taken me
everywhere, and nowhere
finger-snapping people
have me spinning in circles
a socially drunken toy soldier
without a dancer's sense of balance
wandering or racing
sauntering or marching
trying to second guess
their desires or intention
walking on the cracks
of their broken eggshells

remembering the chaos of my youth
I cringe, reviewing my erring steps
today the giant steps I would take
seem in dire need of repair
tomorrow's steps, uncertain,
will they take me farther?
that path remains an enigma
there are still many dances to learn
though my partner -- gently called life,
is a constant charm
my clumsy feet, too, add a zest of color
I meditate only briefly about this dichotomy
many people hobble blindly
through an idea of living
with elegant silver tipped canes
or wooden crutches
though there would be some comfort
just for a while, peaceful
when the days are long and warm
in gliding gracefully
like a victorious ballroom dancer
without tripping on the zigzags
laid by my broken steps





         broken steps
         13 may, 2006
         (Take My Phrase, round 13)