You don’t walk enough my inside voice wisps
today as I stalk to toss the garbage
then scrape up hill to pay the rent my hips
gnawing my nerves each wince showing my age
my downhill skid to mailboxes near pool
bringing sigh at bill stack no check nor note
of care I stare at bright sky feel a fool
for bowing slave to humidity’s coat
of sweat (only relative I live near)
You should walk when it’s cooler the voice chides
I wonder if I’m feeling faith or fear
as I trip past nodding crepe myrtles hide
behind my mask as a neighbor passes
Back home the cold air fogs my sunglasses
Roger Armbrust
August 3, 2020
