Thursday, August 12, 2010

The Jogger

A door swings open, exposing nature's ingredients
a strong gush of wind is blown into a mess of hair
piled up into a ponytail on top of a head.
Two feet step swiftly down cemented stairs
and, reaching the bottom,
bounce into a monotonous rhythmic step.
The steps grow quicker, closer together,
moving gracefully, pounding on the cold, rocky pavement.
Tall towers of green, little figures full of laughter
are left behind in the dust of the quickening feet.
A corner is turned, the winds change directions
The feet move faster, the steps pound harder.
A sharp pain arises in the stomach,
muscles threaten to retire as they stretch further.
A bead of sweat, very sticky, trickles down a cheek.
Tremendous heat and fatigue threaten to overtake the body.
The wind slowly dies away, the steps grow softer, slower, heavier.
Feet drag slowly across cement.
Five steps to climb, muscles writhe in agony.
A door swings open, and satisfaction in accomplished.

written February 1993

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

That was absolutely wonderful and true to the experience (except in my case - there is usually the mommy let me come too screaming left behind).

Motherboard said...

You're awesome. Just sayin'.

Missy said...

This is great~

Garden of Egan said...

I love that! You are most talented.

Braden said...

Love it! I wrote my own poem about exercise.

The Mexican food he eats has made him fat
He thinks about running
Or even walking
He laziness has taken him prisoner
But he has Stockholm Syndrome
He doesn't want to be free.
Pass the burritos....