imagine walking on hot coals or a
New Yorker’s footwork at rush hour
it’s a pre-panicked hustle with muscle
132,133, 134
counting steps helps the boredom
I wiz under beautiful singing bird
speed by the yard with a new pool
stretch up to get a bouncy glimpse
616, 617
a scarlet bougainvillea blurs by
no time to stare at the hoarder’s house
I force my head down
concrete is my friend
1284
to most I just wave I startle
an old woman with a walker
two neighbors turn as I say
“power walking” and giggle
1995
my front gate is in sight
I’m slowing and push harder
2101, 2102 and 2103
I touch the front gate
21 min. 33 sec., not even close
to my record
this poet is wrung out
sits, yawns, removes his shoes
but there’s something wrong
in a panic he feels around for
the lyrical wit and insight
he left somewhere near here
just 22 minutes ago
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