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# Toes
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/toes/
- Published: 2026-07-08T05:03:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-07-08T05:03:00.000Z
- Description: “Toes,” on chance encounters at the local market, written Wednesday, July 8, poem 189 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "Grocery Store Aisle," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Generational, Of Place, Poems, Short-form Musings, Bread Crumbs, Dogs, Encounters, Errands, Grocery, Hearts, Interactions, Intergenerational Conversations, July, Market, OPI, Pajamas, Ramona Quimby, Shopping, Summer, Toenails, Toes, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

“I *like* your **toenails**!”  
  
A unseen voice declares this,   
drifting upwards in my direction.  
The sound, and message,  
shakes me out of my   
grocery task list mission,   
pulling my harried brain   
out of my skull   
and into the external world.  
  
I swivel my eyes down.  
I spy,   
at less than half my height,  
a Ramona Quimby-looking girl.  
All eager chocolate eyes and  
limp, micro-cut brunette fringe.  
Maybe five years old,   
she stands, legs wide,   
fists to waist,   
in superhero stance.  
She herself dons toe-covering  
sparkly bronze-hued Crocs   
and a heart and dog-patterned   
pajama shirt,   
which I read to be  
both not hers,   
and custom-printed.  
  
After clocking my   
interaction instigator,  
I conduct a visual sweep   
of my toes:  
I see two long pale feet   
in black Reef thongs.  
Atop each greying foam sole,   
my set of five long toes sit,   
painted in shiny orangey red,   
OPI enameled   
just for the occasion   
of our country’s   
two hundred fiftieth birthday.  
  
Upon not too socially awkward   
  
— a pause —  
  
I say:  
“Well *thank* you! I like them too!”  
  
And then I tack on:  
“And I like *your* glittery Crocs!”  
  
Without hesitation,   
my new admirer replies:  
“I know! They’re great!”  
Before she launches into:  
“Let me tell you about my *pajamas*!  
“There are red hearts here,”   
she points.  
“All these photos   
are heads of *real* dogs!   
These two are mine!  
"And this dog head picture,   
that is Lucky!   
“And this head here,   
well *that* is Bennett!  
“And this dog there,   
that’s Grandma’s,   
and *his* name is Romeo!"  
  
I glance up at who I take   
to be Grandma.  
She carries   
in her resting posture   
the type of tired   
that only comes   
from a long day of caretaking   
of a curious child.  
I smile with my mouth   
and send a tacit message   
of appreciation and energy to her.  
  
"I hope you have the *best* day!”  
I exclaim, with emphasis,   
stooping down to my   
new companion’s eye level.  
At that, the little shopper   
tilts her head back   
a degree or two   
as if the weight of calculating   
whether this, in fact,   
is the greatest day   
she’ll ever experience,   
is maxing the RAM in her mind.  
  
She might need a minute,  
it appears.  
  
I twist back to the high shelf   
behind me for   
the canister of bread crumbs   
I’d been reaching for   
before receiving   
an unexpected compliment   
on my pedicure.  
  
I grin at the shelves.  
All it takes is an outreach  
to break through the mundanity   
of a grey rainy day at the market.