i committed to doing three pull-ups every time
i pass by the door frame into my office,
not because it’s helped, you know, strengthen me,
though i suppose it hasn’t hurt, either,
but mostly because i miss jumping up and down
as a child without a care in the world,
and jumping up to the pull-up bar seems like the
closest i can come to such a feeling
as a thirtysomething pretending to not be out of shape
and tortured by the weight of adulthood
i keep getting cuts on my leg,
but i don’t know where they come from,
though i have my suspicions,
and those suspicions mostly involve my cat,
who doesn’t like when i sleep in past 6am,
because i’m the one responsible for feeding her,
and petting her, and doting on her,
in the early hours of the morning,
and i don’t think my cat has a lot of patience,
or any concept thereof,
so, if i hit snooze on my alarm, then, i suspect,
i get a light scratch across my leg
that seems like a big ole mystery,
but really it’s not, it’s barely worth mentioning,
though i still think i’ll share this thought with you,
nonetheless
sound out the words and don’t make them taste so sad,
while keeping the volume down, staring down, craning necks and long backs,
to feel the weight of people throwing pebbles
they picked up on the side of the road,
peppered with litter, with crossed eyes
staring at the stars,
hand flailing in the air,
and we’ll make sure to enunciate the deep-seeded
secrets meant to be kept,
then let go…
Fred Aiken Writing 