I have not had a moment to write for two days
and this is the plague of adult life
We just don’t have the time.
I met a guy at the gym with a thick beard and biceps
He gave me advice on my bench press, and lifted 3Xs as much weight as me
then he turned around and kissed his girlfriend in pink butt-tight spandex
and after he told me about his scars and injuries
Then my friend introduced me to some black guys from downtown Renton
I was self-conscious, weak, and white
They did 25 pullups while I watched
Then an old guy showed up—he was 86, and they all knew him
He pulled out numb-chucks, slung ‘em over the bar, and pulled himself up 15 times
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“So my veins pop-out at work when I roll-up my shirtsleeves,” he said.
Some guys stay cool until death.
I went over to my brother-n-laws house, and he told me the story of Maple Valley.
“We have to take our rights back,” he said. “I saw a guy with two American flags and a banner that made me smile, ‘Joe Bidden Sucks.'”
“The world has gone to hell,” I said.
It’s pretty easy to have rapport with my in-laws.
It was a warm day—the red and gold leaves were falling—the classical music in my car choreographed death—and for five minutes, I watched
I was going to a meeting, hoping I wouldn’t be the meat
lawyers kill with words and eat professionals like lions
So, if this poem is turning into word salad, it means I got digested.
I watched a movie from the 1970s—Soylent Green—there is overpopulation, pollution, people wearing masks, and the year is 2022.
I know what I want to do
and it’s writing
the rest is about staying alive, and knowing, I’m the one living it!