250 Thousand Miles to Go

My son and I discuss some trivial stuff,
The other day we contemplated
Whether rock stars had lost all their mysticism
Which has helped to steal the life
From good old fashioned rock and roll.

We blamed the sedation for what was once
The rebellious energy driving youth
On too much access,
Too much streaming,
Too much coverage.

There is nothing left
No wondering about the women’s shirts,
No wondering about the party bus,
No myth, no fantasy
Just plain old fashioned reality.

A friend blames all of this change
On a lack of baseball.
He says that when kids stopped hitting,
Taking the easy way with trendy sports
Where the pressure is slight, deterioration happened.

His premise is built on the All-American pastime,
A game where the action is slow,
The consequences out in the open for all to see,
The required skills are high, and without a Mel Allen mysticism,
Baseball has become a video game inspired lift and jack-o-rama.

Which brings me to one of my running partners,
Who dispels all myths of mystery about access,
While at the same time proving to be on a level
I can’t quite get my head around, he’s a total
Mystic to me.

All of the folks I hit the pavement with are somewhat mysterious,
I know their paces, running styles, and coffee preferences
Much more than I know them as people,
My radar is bogey-free, telling me they are all cool,
But in this one fellow’s case, I can’t see him clearly.


In this fellow’s case, I can’t figure him out.
Each of those qualities, so apparent,
Each of them so elusive for me,
They require such effort,
And it shouldn’t be that way.

I look in his direction whenever I can
Taking in that smile,
The positive energy,
The intelligence,
The mystery.

I’ve learned more about this dude
As we’ve run through the winter,
I have to say, he has warmed my soul,
Yet as close as we have been on the roads,
I’m still far from knowing how he is who he is.

I’m intrigued.
The way he is,
What I think it says about who I am,
Those qualities,
His examples.

My friend is no rock star,
He’s no mystery, just a good dude, some say, “salt of the Earth,”
He’s putting in the miles; running, cars, or secretly mentoring.
Maybe he’s not the root of my mystery, at all.
Who, then? So far to go…

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