It’s April 7th,
National Toe Day.
Anna’s crunched up on the couch,
knees pressed to chest,
removing the flakes of yesterday’s polish,
moving in with the new.
Her mother’s in the bedroom,
maneuvering around those blessed cuticles
with tiny scissors,
claiming each and every toe for
an all American neatness.
Her father, meanwhile,
broke the big toe of his right foot
when he kicked the chair
the day the Cubbies lost.
His toe is more than just a digit in plaster,
it’s the sinapism of a season.
Her brother Frank meanwhile
is applying ointment to the fungus
between his sappy tootsies.
Too much tennis,
not enough changing of the socks.
It’s National Toe Day,
no parades, no anthems,
no school closings,
no President on TV,
but this family can’t keep themselves
it could just as easily
be National Saliva Day
or National Hot Shower Day
or National What’s For Dinner Day.
They’re a family.
The calendar can’t get a word in.
The Almanac doesn’t try.
John Grey is an Australian born poet, works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Chrysalis and the horror anthology, “What Fears Become”with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Hurricane Review and Osiris.