You’re in for a treat, I say.

We’re off to see Arthur.

My toes do a little tap dance on the floorboards.

Come on, you two. Mustn’t be late.

We hop in the car and we’re off.

Thirty minutes in the Waiting Room

then the call.

The doorman lets us in.

Arthur bounces up to us.

Cheerful. Chubby. Cherubic.

Have a seat, he says to my toes

resting my feet on a pouf.

30 seconds one foot.

3o seconds the other.

Done and dusted.

All over red rover.

It’s a tough job,

but someone has to do it.

he says, chirpy as a cherry.

See you in six months.

My toes do a little dance

on the way out.

45 thoughts on “Arthur

    • I wouldn’t want to do it either, Eden; you have to have a calling; I asked my podiatrist why he became one and he said his uncle was one and encouraged him to do likewise; Arthur is cheery so he must enjoy it 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  1. As a toe-tenderer for many years I can vouch for can of worms that toes are happiest when at the end of ones legs. Protruding from the kneecaps is not their chosen spot.

    Can’t stop to chat John. Doris, my 2pm appointment is knocking at the door. Gotta go and spruce up the poufs. She brings me chocolates and flowers. Does that mean something?……

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Had to look up ‘pouf.’ We may call it an ottoman or a ‘footstool’ in these parts.

    @Hobbo – “…pampering piggies…” love the phrase; and a most important discipline for those among us of a more seasoned age!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Totally adorable imagining tap-dancing toes. Always feels luxurious to have the digits well-cared for. May try seeing what kind of show my own chubby toes can perform next time I decide to give them some TLC. Although, my littles right pinky feels nothing ever since that lego incident a couple of years back-which we don’t mention. Like the point of view in this poem, John.


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