My Favorite Chef

I was joyful when
He walked in—weeks after he disappeared
looking older than I remembered,
pasty,
swollen,
yet smiling like usual

then he shrugged off help
Declaring he came back for pay day,
"Need some cash," followed by
a flippant gesture,
a rough laugh,
and a sticking out tongue,
I couldn’t help but find an empty room
to cry.

Good ole John
loving and talented
kind and funny,
and dealing with
"personal problems"

I know addiction when I see it.

"He’s fine"—
"He’s a big boy"—
"He’s made it this far…"—
"Its just a binge"—

Sure,

But I know some big boy binges don’t end til the grave
So I give him a hug before he walks out the door again.

luck,
lots of love
and wishes,
that's all I could give good ole John.

(written August 16, 2011)

Treadmill

The thumping of my feet in my 5-finger shoes

would’ve embarrassed me if I didn’t have Brand New

drowning out the gym, my feet, the patrons

All but my thoughts it muffled

Those padded along with my feet

This general frustration with life

I can’t seem to shake

I don’t handle the time between change well

I realized while breathing harder

I fight it

but I can’t win

unless I learn patience,

It hasn’t gone well for me in the past,

Breathing hard, heart beating fast, too fast?

Maybe

I surpass the two stopping points I had decided on

in my head

but I’m still not satisfied, not proud of my results

I want my legs to burn hotter

my lungs to strain more, that 170 bpm heart to push harder

Burst?

Maybe

I want more sweat dripping off

my hair, down my forehead

I want to work off this mental discomfort

I haven’t been able to shake with writing, working, thinking

But I stop at 1 point something miles anyway.

It feels good to feel drained

and hot while I stretch my

nose to my knee

But not good enough.

Nothing has felt good enough in awhile now

And I don’t really know why

Or where I went. In between change.

(written August 6, 2011)