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JOGGER

Early on a Saturday morning, adrenaline flows through his veins, down his spine and to his heels. Perspiration pours through his glands as his feet grind the untarred road and raise needless dust upon my respiration, causing a frantic bemusement.

For who runs when none pursues? Who sweats with so much pleasure? Who seeks pain in this painful world?

Oh Jogger, dear Jogger, the sweat and cramp may hurt you not, but the pace of your feet drives me naught. I'm out to feel the sun but you race pass me as if chased by a gun. I'm out for a little warmth but you cause a great panic in my thought.

©2020 Jonwrites

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