I’ve heard that when one sense is compromised
The others come alive to compensate.
A skeptic, I was modestly surprised
To find it’s true. That’s good news, right? Well, wait.
The classic senses number one through five
(If you can see Bruce Willis, make it six)–
Sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing, not-alive—
And from that list your sense-boost-chooser picks…
Or, not. My left prescription lens fell out
While I was running; semi-blind, I found
These senses much enhanced: frustration, doubt,
Annoyance, plus an anger/loss compound.
For hours, sight was not my only lack;
I’m pleased to note that humor’s creeping back.
Don’t ask me what I’m going to write.
I’m playing it by ear tonight!
No edits, no backspacing, no
Idea where I’m gonna go.
I’ll squeeze my brain for words like limes
For limeade, and just hope it rhymes.
So far, so good. Since I’m ahead
I think I’ll quit and go to
high school in my underpants
Fine. Forget what I just said.
I’m through. I blew it. Time for bed.
What’s the sum of DUMB + NUMB?
That’s where my brain is coming from.
A total’s not a place, you say?
That’s neither here nor less today.
No concept more abstract than sleep
Is comprehensible, so keep
Your questions ’til the morning, please.
For now, good-night, and pleasant cheese!
400 driving miles
Maybe 20 more afoot
1 odor in the car up with which
Most folks would not put
Zero medals (for a reason
No one understands)
Add up to 1 Lost Weekend
Much more fun than Ray Milland’s!
Approaching the coast
A bit later than most
But if smiles are miles
Our rivals are toast!
Said good-night to the sun
On my opening run
Then yawned as it dawned
On my second. What fun!
My last leg was easy,
Downhill and slight-breezy;
My grin at the end
Was wide, toothy and cheesy.
Three dances with pain
For my van-mates remain
Then in Seaside, from pride,
They’ll decline to complain.
It’s really more fun
With a dozen than one:
We can boast of a most
Awesome Hood to Coast run!
Runner seven, Hood to Coast.
I’m waiting at the van exchange.
Of all three legs I’ll run, the most
Nerve-wracking is this first one. Strange.
I check the temps obsessively:
Still 90! … now it’s 88 …
Still dropping, but too slow for me.
Sub-60? Man, would that be great!
I might get 81 or so.
I’ll live with that. I’ve got my belt
With four cold bottles set to go.
I can’t remember when I’ve felt
This nervous just before a race.
It’s ’cause Van 2 depends on me
To get off to a decent pace
Then cruise from Sandy to the sea.
Or, maybe that’s all in my head?
Look, they’re all laughing, having fun…
Okay, stress less: relax instead!
I will…once I begin to run!
We always walk right after work
But this week, well, I’ve been a jerk
‘Cause I don’t like when it’s too hot
So I told Syd I’d rather not
Go out until the heat declines
To numbers that don’t start with nines
Or even eights, which means we wait
Until it’s very, very late
Before it’s cool enough to go
Outside to let her do…you know.
By which I mean, we find a lawn
Where someone’s left the sprinkler on
And Sydney goes to town and drinks
Like crazy from the end that sprinks.
She thinks it’s cool and, well, she’s right.
So, then we head home through the night
And soon I’m sleeping like a log
And dreaming I’m a hot, wet dog.