Montana Feet

The dude’s feet are disgustin’
Dirty and scarred and scabbed
No more’n stubs with ten digits
Like pink, fleshy batterin’ rams

But each scab has a story
And each scrape a tall tale
He wears his scars proudly
And why shouldn’t he, pray tell

His right heel’s purt ugly
A 20-mile day, with 40 pounds loaded
In new boots (a rookie mistake)
The blister plain exploded

But he kept on and kept up
Woodsman’s pride’s a strong force
Still, it cost him some skin, and a sock
Worth it, of course

The cuts came from raspberry bushes,
The scrapes from a fall
Toe hair singed from campfire embers
Sunburn red on it all

Poison ivy, poison oak
The blisters barely show
Compared to the hamburger
The river rapids made of his toe

A piece of glass cut his arch
At a beach volleyball match
Then a sliver stuck deep,
And a tick came to latch

Yep, his piggies are revoltin’
And they sure catch an eye
They tell a hell of a story
Of a life spent outside

But give’m an ounce of pity
And he’ll insist “It’s really not so bad…”
“At least there’s no frostbite!”

Ain’t summer grand?