Publique

to the God of mud-clumped shoes,

knocked knees, bushed brows,

and the grunting publique.

 

thank You

for corners

so I can have a home,

for a failing throat

so I can stop speaking,

for a limp ankle

so I can walk slower;

 

but most of all,

thank You for everyone 

in mud-clumped shoes–

 

the people You call

my family

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