Baseline

My friends who really know me,
The ones who get past the veneer,
Know that within the philosophical poet Cox
There is an inappropriate, immature, and
Highly sarcastic dude.

My friends also know,
That I wear my emotions clearly,
Not hiding disdain or annoyances,
Although, joy sometimes has a hard time
Escaping the serious upper layers.

If I had to describe me,
I might go, Sam Malone, “simple guy, complex world,”
But that doesn’t seem quite right,
For on this morning run,
Chaotic might describe me best.

The run started as they all do,
Cold, dark, idle chit-chat.
There were the normal aches and pains,
Runners know them well,
Non-runners don’t.

We trudged up the hill
And my isolationist tendencies took over.
My pace dropped, nature’s sounds were amplified,
The creek, unseen birds, the aria that is sunrise
Played off in the distance.

That moment was beautiful, peaceful,
Then things went haywire.
Maybe there was a surge of testosterone,
A little manliness to crank up my pace,
Some ego to challenge my solo existence.

The run ended in a blaze of slowness
That is the pace I run,
With sweat pouring and endorphins pumping
The aforementioned “haywiriness” nearly fully percolated,
I stretched, to take care of the running aches.

Balls.

Hard balls on soft mats.
Nut coffee, cream or no cream.
Low hanging fruit.

Balls.

Magic 8-Balls,
Two Magic 8-Balls lifted to the sky,
Boiled peanuts at Hyman’s in Charleston.

Balls.

The whole coffee conversation revolved around balls,
The inappropriateness sort of hidden,
But right there in your face
If you had the range and shallowness to put it there.
Then there were innocent talks of tacos and mailboxes
Each sending me, and a couple of others,
Back to high school, no, probably more like middle school
When this sort of joking was all the rage,
Who am I kidding, without any Freudian psychoanalysis,
It’s still effing funny.

Balls, Balls, Balls,
The hanging and the swaying of the balls,
If Poe had written that it would be a classic
And maybe banana hammocks and Vienna Sausages
Wouldn’t be such blue humor,
But alas, it was time for work,
We all had to go,
For it was

Hump day.

Ahhh haaa, haaa, haaa!

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