Michael Reilly’s Scrapbook Part 1

Late Run

I am running along Cochran Road at dusk.

It is brisk for May

And I am wearing my old track pants

And a windbreaker given to me years ago

By someone I cannot remember


My stride is heavier than it used to be

And my aching knees are wrapped too tightly

In the braces I paid too much for.

While the cramp in my side

Like an annoying dinner guest

Seems reluctant to leave


I hug the side of the road

As kids in souped-up beaters

And farmers in diesel monsters

Rush past me, leaving only Detroit perfume

To remember them by.


I listen to music

Which has long been out of fashion

And look to the mountains

Which rise above the fields

And haven’t aged a day


I want to go a little further

But the pain in the soles of my feet

Becomes harder to ignore

And there is work to be done

And obligations to fulfill


Still, I beat on

Running against the traffic

Drenched in fading sunlight

Reluctant to accept the journey back

One inevitably faces



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