Ode on a Pair of Ankles

Thou still unravish'd bones of shapeliness,

 Thou joints of early pregnancy,

With definition, between calf and tarsals.

 One can see where a leg ends, the graceful foot begins.

No concern for elevation of lower extremities,

Everything looks as it should.

But the passage of time, the gaining of weight,

  And soon the ankle stays for just a short time,

Just the precious first few moments of the day.

 Whose cankles are these? What sausages that pass for toes?

 What blood must be pooled in these?
What water must be retained, to reach that impossible size?

O elevate them! raise them up! with pillow      

Or ottoman or arm of sofa.           

Will they never be two separate forms again,

Thou, once slender foot? thou idyllic calf?

As the third trimester progresses,          

And due date approaches,         

Cankles shall remain, and swelling doth increase.          

And I am forced to admit:                                                           

'Beauty is ankles, ankles beauty, - that is all        

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'