The woman next to me at the bar
just hollered, “WALKER!”
in my direction.
Shrill and piercing
like a golf ball flying into a mailbox
I don’t blame her—
she’s drunk on a Friday afternoon
and eating peanuts.
Here are the feelings today:
That last one’s always there.
Well, almost always.
There are times
after a run,
in the morning looking at the mountains,
I think about everything that might happen,
everything that’s inevitable, and
it’s all okay.
Old age, homelessness, shitty jobs, fuck-ups,
horrible diseases I say thanks every day I don’t have
yet, death, yes
That feeling never lasts more than an hour though
'cause next comes giddiness that maybe
I’ve left all my troubles and worries behind
once and for all, and that’s
always pursued by a feeling
of manic anxiety.
I’m back in my own skin,
my mind the hammer
of a church bell