Poem 21

I forgot that I wrote this poem or thought it wasn't good enough when I put together the set of poems I wanted to keep working on. A few days ago I happened upon it again, thinking it actually wasn't too bad. It's nice when my past leaves little gifts for my present to find.

I put the first draft down below so you can see that I didn't mess with this one too much as far as content.

Why I Run

The light spread over the sheets
and onto the floor of Saturday morning.
Without shower or coffee
I found the doorknob easy to turn
and the ground eager against my sneakers.

What has pulled me here
amid bird songs and dewed grass,
cars pulled neatly into driveways
like animals at troughs?

My feet pound shoe against asphalt
up the hill and past houses
sharing common floor plans
and different only by paint-
white with blue trim,
cream with burgundy,
the beige of it all
against that sky hot with sun.

I already squint through sweat.
But a wind blows
here along the pavement,
offering me more breath
as the hill punishes my legs
and my calves sizzle and clench.

With the morning so spent,
who cares how I waste this day?