Feels Like I’m Stalling

I ought to be running.
The plan in my phone
Says I ought to be running,
Not writing alone
On the sofa, inertially
Biding my time
With procrastinatactile
Inaction in rhyme.

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Seven Up

Seven is the number that
I reach for at each dropped hat
And it bothers me to quit
Before I count up to it.
Iambs are not seven’s friend
But this poem still can end
Happily.

The Afterbath

El Niño takes the beach by force.
The war fog lifts. What’s left? A horse.
First question: Did the rider fall?
And two: Is Aquaman that small?

So Sous Me

I button the cat in her jacket
And straighten her wee little tocque.
She calls for an egg and I crack it.
It’s breakfast. Let’s feed these fine folk!

Sweet 15: A Failed Haiku

My post-workout
Rocky Road and oatmeal stout
It’s what I’m owed

Foot Ball

The penguin took my meatball
But I won’t have him arrested.
He only wants to play with it,
As he himself’s attested.
He’s practicing for fatherhood:
He keeps it on his feet
For warmth and its protection.
After practice, then I’ll eat.

Pain + Gain

A month or so and I’ll forget
The pain today. I haven’t yet
And that’s okay: A hard long run
Makes marathon day much more fun.