Kicking a Stone

It is unseemly

some might say

at my age to be kicking a stone.

Or anything.

I'll kick a pine cone,

a lump of icy snow,

whatever comes to my itchy foot.

 

Doing a hitching half-step

in order to approach the stone squarely

and on the correct foot?

Well, that's flat-out cheating.

You've got to play it as it lays—

or pass it by.

A few hints:

no sandals,

unless you're angling for a broken toe.

And the winter version is variable:

maybe it looks like a chunk of tennis-ball-sized ice

but it turns out to be a pile of soft snow.

Or maybe it looks freestanding

but it's fast-frozen to the sidewalk

and will not budge with a kick.

 

Lurking dangers don't stop me.

I kick whatever.

I kick no matter what.

 

 

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