Social Combat

 

    They watched me limping
    Ahead steadily pretending
    I don’t exist.
    I ought to be remote
    From whatever they
    Whisper to and fro,
    And an hour or two

    Punching the heavy bag,
    Running the treadmill
    Should make it so.
    Stars later twinkle through
    My window and catch my
    Eye.  I pause, take
    A twisted towel and

    Mop my brow.
    These junctures
    Are thirsty work.
    Hoisting a beer I look
    About at all I’ve destroyed,   
    Ready now for the next
    That comes my way.