My point, dear sir, is simply put:
I’m asking you—get off my foot.
You must forgive my clumsiness
I did not mean to cause distress
I so regret I did transgress,
As everybody sees!
It clearly wasn’t what I meant—
I mean, it was not my intent
I trod your toes by accident
I beg your pardon—please!
I do not know the way things went;
It might well be an accident.
My point, dear sir, is simply put:
I’m asking you—get off my foot.
I tell you, I was unaware!
It isn’t that I did not care
I didn’t know your foot was there!
It never crossed my mind!
I took a step; I did not know
That in my path, an inch below
My boot, there sat your tender toe,
Disastrously aligned!
The crucial point, is not, in fairness
The lack, or presence, of awareness
My point, dear sir, is simply put:
I’m asking you—get off my foot.
My friends and I—my awesome bro’s—
Have secret greetings that we chose;
We show our love by stomping toes
It’s good, you see, not bad!
You can’t assume I meant to harm
In truth, it shows a certain charm!
I take offense at your alarm—
It’s wrong that you’re so mad!
Your friends, of course, are not my friends
My toe is where their privilege ends
My point, dear sir, is simply put:
I’m asking you—get off my foot.
I do not care. I have the right
To leave my footprints where I might
I will not bend, nor feel contrite—
You ought to let it go.
I’ll step just where I damn well choose
If there’s a toe—I don’t care whose—
I’ll take my step. Some win, some lose…
Too bad about your toe
Your reasons are not my concern
But clearly you have much to learn
My point, dear sir, is simply put:
I’m telling you—get off my foot.
The moral of the story… If you are hurting someone, the thing to do is to stop hurting them. Not to try to explain why you are continuing to hurt them. Or why you didn’t know you were hurting them. Or why you don’t have to worry about such trivial things as their pain….
Cuttlecap tip to Natalie, for a metaphor even I could understand.
Bravo.
Brilliant!
Lovely.
You could add a verse about your failure to wear steel-toe boots.
Oooh, quite right, chigau…
(“boots” is actually a really horrible rhyme…)
And this is why I’m proud to have your sticker on my car.
*wags cuttle-tail*
Seems someone always gets there first
In words to compliment your verse
I thought of ‘brilliant’ but it’s used
I need a superlative muse
I next came up with ‘bravo’ but
Again I’m late or in a rut
Still I can’t quit. Won’t be a pooper
I think your foot stomp poem is super
OMG but I absolutely, positively, love it! I think I am going to try to memorize it – well, at least a verse or two
Brillliant! I know several people who need to see this. Not having a car, I have your logo on the lid of my computamabob where it hides (black on black) untill light catches it at the right angle and it jumps out at you. Thanks for this and all the other stuff, G.
Ooh–a stealth cuttle!
I agree with chigau, very lovely indeed! So lovely in fact, that i couldn’t get the steel-toe boots out of my head…
———–
To trace the problem to its roots,
a careful man wears steel-toe boots,
this is a fact no one disputes.
The fault is yours, not mine.
And your atempts to pass the blame
are clearly done to try to shame
to try to make me play your game
to toe the PC line.
Despite the logic you subvert,
it’s not your toe, it’s mine that hurt.
My point, dear sir, is simply put:
I’m asking you-get of my foot.
Although these steel toes might abate
The pain of course there’s still your weight.
You’re interfering with my gait.
Why should the choice be mine?
Please tell me. Should I be the one
Discomfited until you’re done?
Toting you is just no fun.
The problem sir is thine.
I’m adding this indignant plea
You’re really irritating me
I’ll yell at you until I’m mute
Please sir, will you get off my boot?
You have a wonderful gift of self-expression through poetry.