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Fifteen.
Kind of easy today.
The hot pad on my hip calls,
“Shenanigans.”
I don’t mind,
Therapeutic trash talk being good for the soul.
Back at it tomorrow.

Things get away in a busy week.
Hustle dominates.
Rest ramps up.
Darkness comes earlier.
Writing gets pushed aside.
Somehow there’s still a president,
Baseball is still playing, and
Hockey, which just finished,
Will soon be back on the ice for real,
Or as the kids say, “Frrreal.”
Maybe things will slow down soon.
Maybe not.

Perhaps a heating pad is not enough.
Maybe two-thirds majority, either.
Not sure of the connection,
But whether I’m warm enough
Or freed from this political apocalypse
I’m fairly sure things wont change much.

So I’ll keep running
And I’ll keep voting
Because as hard as the miles are
Not having a say is worse.
Soon enough my quads won’t hurt,
Hopefully, America will wake up just as quickly.

The other day another youthful fantasy
Got destroyed
When a sitcom siren was reportedly involved
In a naked knife-wielding domestic dispute.

Not sure who was supposed to be naked,
But either way,
It kind of killed the memory
Of what she brought to the table.

So with the gossipy news
Taking away the salacious thoughts
I was left with morning conversations
With the coolest old heads I know.

We ran through the dark,
Comparing food choices
That increasing include fewer bouts with sugar
And greater experimentation with lifestyle changes.

When cruised into the morning
Listening to a hoodied meathead
Grunt over creaking knees
As they provided a porn soundtrack to simple leg extensions.

We gathered at the watering hole
A table at the Y where swill coffee goes down
Better than the reality of whatever happens
During a shutdown week.

Farts on planes,
Attempts to move the burning air,
Recirculating an old friend’s Army story of
Clearing back blast areas.

Just another Friday with my mates…

This day,
One where singularity
Fell to Murphy’s Law
When on LSD, a long, slow run,
And totally channeling my carnivore cravings,
I locked in on the thought of a burger
To pass the hours on the repurposed train bed.

Unfortunately,
A broiler was broken leaving only the King’s chicken,
I’d much rather have had a three-cheese sandwich at that point,
But since there was no option for that,
I went ahead and ordered the fried bird my way
Only to get it
Their standard way.

Oh well.

It’s been cool this week,
The focus being taut, stretched across so many thoughts
Retirement, too far away…
Rising Juniors, unfortunately unfunded…
Running, each step another in an awesome journey.
Keeping my mind focused has seen a casualty or two,
Crossword puzzles, journaling, anger. Each I’m okay letting go of.

There was a discussion about needles moving for aging men,
My friend claiming his youthful age was starting to accept stagnation
Something I could never think would happen,
For to think things like that cannot happen again
Is to accept the beginning of the end
Acceptance of decline,
Quitting.

No way, man.

I can’t allow my mind to go there,
Never, sometimes, always maybe and ready,
The idea of being prepared is appealing
To a guy who is up for a run,
Down with a swim, or cool riding a bike,
Distance, time, whatever, it all feels good
Because to be in the race is the place to be.

So bring all challenges,
Turtles in the road,
Ship’s ladder climbs,
Humid half-marathons,
Unwanted fast-food chicken,
Dreams of emptying the tank, and
Whatever else life can bring.

Age loses here, Chief.