Walkin' thoughts

Walkin’ is a joy.

Guilty as all get-out,
if I don’t get out.

A stranger smells like coffee
as he glides by on his bike.

I keep pace on my walk by chanting;

“The Fort Dix Boogie.”

“Yer left/yer right/yer left,right,left!
Yer had a good home but you left,
yer right,
Joanie was there when yer left,
yer right, sound off . . .”

I would substitute Jonnie
for Joanie.
“In the Army, in the Closet.”

Sweet Gatorade morphs
into salty sweat.

Soaked in the Florida morning
heat and humidity.
Goin’ home to a power-wash,
hot, tepid, cold.

Washin’ dirt and grime and sweat away,
but not my thoughts.

I dissect my walk:
Light/light/RR tracks/light.
Light/RR tracks/light/light.

Walkin’ is a bore.


TP.