Middle-aged women in jeans
and sensible shoes.
I have become one of necessity,
since the time I cut my foot
with the shovel,
and had to be rushed out for stitches.
That was the first I really knew
that shovels were sharp.

And then there were the gardening sandals
I bought too large,
allowing room for socks,
which meant I didn’t notice in time,
the painful lump I’ve never gotten rid of.

All the shoes I tried to cram my wide feet in,
I always needed a different size for each foot.
Just as I have needed different tops and bottoms,
shorter sleeves and legs.
I have never fit in things as they are,
or a life that’s off the rack.