Secrets Under the Sock

I grabbed a ball-point pen/And then untied a shoe/Unclad my foot and then/Inked up my archeroo.

“Step lively,” I affirmed/Near nail and metatarsal/In cursive supradermed/”If Wit won’t do, a Farce’ll,”

I wrote behind the heel,/And then be-ringed the ankle/”Brace. Let.” And then “Pig deal”/And asked, “Foot Odor rankle?”

Reshod, I walked untrippingly/And grinned, O Me-O, My-O,/I’d added, sanity-tippingly,/Some Footnotes to my bio.