My team is cool,
We haven’t come together, though,
Young ones,
Still trying to understand
Teams are greater than individuals,
The stuff of sacrifice, and that
Winning is more about attitude than results.
We’ll figure it out
Because all of us are cool,

So many people,
So many places,
Everyone out there reaching for it,
Whatever that is.

One woman,
Trekking across the country,
Single-minded in her focus
To run through a tunnel.

One man,
Over booked and hostage to time
Made a decision to bail,
To keep everything intact.

Three dudes,
Different in every way, but one,
Running the streets of Philly
With goals equally as different.

I can only speak for me,
But this group inspires,
Making the early morning workouts good,
Making Philly a lot more brotherly.

New challenges are ahead,
5Ks, triathlons, life
But the best thing about each
Is we never do them alone.

Thanks to all y’all.

Quitting a union,
I mean association,
Is like clipping toe nails,

Just gotta be done, yo.

I get it,
Fear needs protection
Risk needs insurance.

Just gotta be done, yo.

Money is money, though.
Bad investments must be cut.
So long…

After a week that saw work rise with full force,
Unwanted comments about the hardness of whatever
From a work colleague, and an old lady
Putting her hand just above my butt and saying,
“Don’t back up, I coming in,”
I thought my Friday morning run
Might be simple and quiet,
An easy jaunt away from the weirdness
Surrounding my job.

Then, unrelated partners,
Moments of whim,
Conflagrations of inappropriateness,
And expressions of people’s overdeveloped
Senses of importance rose with the sun.

Friday became hypocritical…
Here they are,
The different things, out of sequence,
There for the hash taggers,
There for posterity,
Not posteriors, no matter the copy machine harassments.

I.

Ex mayor political expertise
At using hashtag comments with impunity
As needle moving provocations
To get hugs without allowing
Juice to get all over his dapper threads.

II.

Cold air brings nipples out
With their underdeveloped toughness
Succumbing to the abrasive ways
Of supercharged fabrics
That scrape and chaff
Like cheese graters on blocks of cheddar.

III.

Old men, no longer oozing testosterone
Angry at their inability to rise,
Getting mad at everything, unable to appreciate
The sweat and all juice has to offer.
Instead, dude should chill, age like a fine whisky,
Retaining its bite, curating a fire
So when the old plumbing finally falters
And the days are few,
Happiness still has a chance

IV.

“White people do that shit!”
The quote of the morning,
An observation straight from Puerto Rico
Said in the way only a Latina could express
About the ways of marriage and divorce
In the fairer skinned culture.
I would never dare to deny, nor suggest about others
With the same toned descriptions
For my people have long lost the right
To make stereotypical jokes
Outside of our troubled history.

V.

Duran Duran chimed in, “Mouth is alive, juices like wine,”
Just as Snoop did, offering,
“Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sipping gin and juice,”
Innuendo ruling the morning,
Enema inducing bike seat discussion
Peppered between the later-in-the-morning work day traffic.

That was enough for me,
Twelve hours later, I fell asleep sitting up on the couch.
Can’t wait for next week.

Finally, Friday,
A short, long weekend
Followed up
By what willk surely be
A too short weekend.

I wonder what it’s like
When everyday is a Saturday,
Retirement,
An ellusive vixen
Tempting and teasing
Offering the goods,
But when you get there
It’s all nasty.

Ah, whatever,
I’m too young for that,
Friday, that’s all today is.

Sharpie pens on official maps…
A crime?
Charging foreign nationals for a night’s stay…
A crime?
Firing people who don’t pledge allegiance…
A crime?
Stealing from the military to build a wall…
Criminalish?
Kidnapping babies from their parents at the border…
Criminalish?
Voting for this type of person once…
Ignorant.
Voting for this type of person twice…
I don’t have words.

Sitting at a big box guitar store after
Housing a mushroom omelette,
Two pancakes with home fries, and
Enough coffee to make
Hoover Dam operate at full capacity
As DMB plays over satellite radio
And all I can think about
Is running later
To relieve my gut of the burden of
Carrying the gross amount of food
I just ingested.
I’ll run lightly, like fluffy pancakes,
Probably burping or farting the Whole time,
But happy in the expressions of Wafting gasses that
Suggest scents from Columbia,
Tempered by the weight of guilt,
Understood to be just another meal,
Energy for the run, life’s run,
The one to be enjoyed.