Eight Mile/Seven Hour Poem

Despite my body's plea for change, I ignore the routine of an early morning trot.

I am fully aware of the dangers of subjective judgement 

Here in this oddly misplaced age of neatly tied neck ties and symmetrically laced shoe strings,

But this God-given free will continues to have it's way.

I am greeted by the mid-afternoon breeze 

And the stench of rotting berries from a tree I've been trying to identify without much success

Even with the assistance of my literature on the flora and fauna of North America

I have the tendency to do nothing on days like this

You know, sluggish, warm, Do-Nothing days

But I will make most of this one as this hazy atmosphere is usually unappealing to me

But has grown resplendent in mine eye

The body is a machine, a mechanism He created with such delicacy

All the pieces packed compactly within a shell

Yes, a machine and machines operate on fuel

Peanut Butter on toast

Great, now we can begin

Public transportation is such a drag and I barely have enough room 

Between two large, odd regulars to think about the unutterable history

Between the number three line and myself

Three stops, two stops, my stop

Oh shit! MY stop!

Minding one's business is a philosophy taught to every youth

In every school yard across America

But I knew this girl from Anatomy & Physiology

God, how I dreaded that class

In all truth,  I find it completely farcical that I often end up

At the hindquarters of every dying discourse

But I assume it's because I'm always conscripting tiny banks of audacity or intestinal fortitude 

For efforts to make my words engaging.

We discuss old passions and what became of whom

I am surprised by a sudden selfishness as she informs me of those doing worse than myself

It makes me feel better about the fact that I am not as ambitious as I feel I should be

Again, selfishness

Tales of aborted love affairs and irresponsible thinking

Bidding farewell, I am late and there is a first time for everything

Breathless from choking down cigarettes, I climb the stairs

Today was a day for damning my existence, evaluating silent romances

And practicing brisk pragmatism