i never complained being trodden on
people travelling, using me as a stepping stone
even if it were feet
it was some kind of contact
Friends came in and out of my life.
Many of them not so much as ever calling me back.
Eating from the plate and spitting back in it.
I’d gladly serve them again, and again.
They’ve all gone on to have fabulous lives, and I wish them well.
But I do wonder,
would they still be my friends,
if I wasn’t that stepping stone?
If I didn’t just take their abuse?
I guess the touch,
even if it was a sole,
some kind of intimacy,