Don’t mean to groan or moan or nit pick
About what i adore but nothing is perfect
Last Sunday i delivered a love letter to the run
But missed out the details i wish wouldn’t come
The thought came to me even before i set off
Living in the past where GPS is lost
Never knowing my distance is a very low cost
But annoying none the less in a world of modern toss
Shoe laces flapping
Key in pocket tapping
Rumble at the back door and TP lacking
Strain in the ankle
Surplus of hair
Phone strap a hastle
But without hear only air
Spy a lonely stone not much it could do
Nonchalantly over trod it takes over my shoe
The pressure pushes in to the ball of my foot
Give a little whimper, a spazzer I must look
Hazards with chaffing
Bleeding nips
Even with spandex, cuts around the hips
But now i am nitpicking
Let’s sack off this poem
Even before talking about sweat in headphones
Think of another topic for today to pursue
Jumping over puddles
Landing askew
Skilfully avoid the dog turd like Jarvis
Lose my footing, immediately slip
Slam into a gravel post
Feeling a right tit
Slash my arm up, knee’s in bits
Cover it in mud to stop the stinging?
Or bacteria and infection that could bring in?
Limp to the chemist and ask for something?
Block the pain out.
Keep on running.
Nytheone Matt 