

DENTIPEDALISM
Be kind to your feet and your teeth.
They look to you for succor.
They have no one else to turn to.
Once, they had your mother, perhaps.
But now she is gone, perhaps.
Now, you must take care of them.
You are their step-mother.
Your toes are far away
And all alone.
They have no one to turn to
But you alone.
Think of them, so weak —
Helpless — as if exiled.
Will you ignore them?
Being so far away and so small, are they not, a fortiori,
gently to be cared for?
(They have nails that must be cut.)
(They must fight against fungi.)
(They cannot clean themselves.)
(They do what they can.)
Consider, as well, your teeth.
Living always hidden —
In heat, dampness —
Attacked continuously by germs.
Think of them in their loneliness,
Their utter helplessness.
How they must despair of your neglect —
Considering how close you are.
Only a few inches away
— And yet it might as well be light-years.
They like to be brushed several times a day.
(Unlike toes, they cannot even move.)
Toes must get free of shoes sometimes,
Free of socks, an hour at least.
They want to feel the ground, the air —
The rug, the hard wooden floor.
Teeth need fresh water, air —
They like to be flossed —
The light soft cotton floss
Sliding over their surfaces.
They cannot do it alone.
Your tongue cannot do it alone.
Fingers they need, mind,
Consideration, care.
Some day, they may have to be sacrificed.
Well and good, if such should be necessary.
In the meantime, be good to your feet, to your teeth.
You are their father and their mother.
— Theodore Schroetter
UNTITLED
And another dream, in which I saw clearly
the construction of waters —
Rivers,
Estuaries —
Fell from a high walkway into the Narragansett
And was rescued by loving hands.
And then, a second time, unable to keep my
balance,
I fell, but made it, this time, a straight dive:
Cleanly, down through the great world of the
inlet,
Touching with my hand — victoriously — the bottom,
Then, shooting back to the surface and resting
there.
Later, towards the back, where all was involved —
Specks of mud, turbid waters, specialists in
charge of the rescue —
I waited with patience for news of myself.
When the one in charge told me there was little
hope,
I wept, turning my head away decorously.
But, in fact, as I well knew, I was up on the
surface, alive —
The one who had fallen and had learned the ocean.
Simply it was that not one was able to see me,
Carefully though they looked into the roil of
waters.
— Theodore Schroetter
GREENWICH VILLAGE
The lively, glistening evening
At Cafe One— the quick talk
Bracelets flashing in the car-lights
Women laughing, wine
Then, at Cafe Two the calm
View, the muted sounds, occasional
Locking of eyes with a passer-by —
Breeze along the tables
At Cafe One I read Hart Crane,
Watching the women's bracelets shine —
At Cafe Two I wrote these lines
As the candles flickered in the wind
— Theodore Schroetter