an afternoon

If we focus on the distance between the houses on a sunny street by giving our attention to only the mailboxes, we can better see things in perspective. The monstrosity in bricks passes by and our eyes see only the distances between them. I often take my walks home as such, and, once inside, I wander about with a bag of baby carrots to help me see better. My feet unclad slap the wide floors beneath me, and look so aligned, so narrow, so alien to my body. Perhaps I don't see them often enough, or perhaps the idea of them is overly shunned by the population. My body escapes into the funhouse of clothing, and comes out twisted and distorted to make hands and feet. Perhaps they are so different from the environmental factors. When I stomp them on the ground they seem so new to me, so orderly yet still alien. Nonetheless, their tapping coincides with the percussive "dum-tah-tah" of my chewing on fat baby vegetables.