Stepping

I take nothing in stride
My stride is always broken
Pigeon-toed, flat-footed
Steps caught by a root, bubbled up

It could be temporary, my clumsiness
Picking my way through bushes of thorns
Scared of poison ivy on both sides of the path
Or lasting needles, distrust, every step glare ice

There are my feet, after all
I should control them, not allow hysteria,
Point them in a direction where there is
Something worthwhile waiting, a reward for someone, anyone