Tarmac Tooth

It clung, a dark, flat, ugly stain,

to my old sole, through sun and rain.

I scraped it hard against the curb,

a stubborn, grimy, dull disturbance.

It picked up grit, a tiny stone,

like bits of trouble, all my own.

Some days you just can't shake it free,

the city's leavings, stuck to me.

Just walked it in, across the mat,

what kind of mess is truly that?

A ground-down chew, a stale old fact,

can't get that damn thing off my track.