A low-key, ostinato pain
Is keeping me awake;
Each toe can boast its own chilblain
Whose aim in life’s to ache.

Although I wore three pairs of socks,
My place of work’s that raw
My feet were frozen like two rocks
In the beast of winter’s paw.

So, even though my mind’s worn-out,
It’s pestered by my feet
Which question what the pain’s about
And why it can’t be beat.

But, in the end, I fall asleep
And dream I’m in hot sand knee-deep.

Photo by Ava Tyler on Unsplash

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