Seas of mud

  Lost a shoe in the shuffle

  back there, that’s what they told me.

  All I can do is double knot

  with stiff fingers and quick prayers

  and trust in the metal holding

  me to earth that we run

  instead of slide like skaters

  soaring through brown ice.

  The guys lope like gentlemen,

  silent companions as I enter

  the shadows of the valley

  where beer bottles loiter like the drunk

  in the bushes and creases of the trees.

  Look straight ahead, my legs marching

  like a part of the band, listening

  to the silent beat, synchronized runners

  running from the sins of older men, women.

  Bus leaves at dawn,

  before the sun has bothered

  to duck out of bed. Grab a pillow

  or a friend and snooze before the race rises

  in fiery splendor. The way back is nothing

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  but wind, familiar scent of sweat,

  friendship songs like the Irish back in Dublin.

  Hill day strips us all of pride,

  the muscles of the body beating

  like a heart, inching up and down

  the land like caterpillars. Ride the rush

  of freshly mowed green

  like a rollercoaster in reverse—

  rush the ups, coast the downs.

  We chat through slits of breath,

  just two bodies following the mold of the earth,

  rising and falling like inevitable tides.

  New love, true love

  My new love was sleek

  as Teslas, smart as a California

  tux or the math teacher I slept through.

  Her glow was a nightlight,

  a haze of blurred stars in my living room

  —my vivacious xbox,

  wires curled just so,

  her mind racing a million

  miles a minute.

  These were the glory days of Halo,

  circling the rings, finger on the trigger

  as we chatted through the headphone waves

  to people countries and continents apart.

  We engaged in negotiations, idle chit chat,

  jumped-started friendships and smack talked

  with the best of them.

  And when the game stretched

  into the view of your parents

  and we had to hit the neighborhood streets

  to stretch our legs, we mounted ripsticks

  like spaceships and ran

  the cul-de-sac ring,

  mouths pumping faster than our legs

  as we discussed strategy,

  two army generals in t-shirts and shorts.