This is Why I Run

The poem I started disappears, and I can’t
summon its lines; I don’t remember yet
another password; my dental hygienist
has moved; I don’t like my middle-aged
stomach; Banana Republic needs better
quality control because a purse-sized bottle
just broke, fragrancing bathroom tile and now
my sinuses; a seven-week-old slept on me
for two hours, and I can’t stop feeling
his grip; I can’t get a manicure to last more
than two days; I see a square where
there should be new sockets, the electrician
eschewing our roof, the attic before
announcing he couldn’t wire that space,
so now I have to call “Mike, the Drywall
Guy”; my college roommate unfriended
me on Facebook; I friend the treadmill
repair guy on Facebook; another friend
needs an intervention, but no one will
confront her, including me; a new wrinkle
has sprouted between my eyebrows; I like
beer; I can’t grade or vacuum when
I’m running away; I crave being alone,
in my head, listening to my pounding
or a bird call I might not know I hear;
my feet move on their own, I don’t even
know how my brain signals them anymore,
heel toe, heel toe, heel, toe,
I just can’t stop.

Amy Lerman was born and raised on Miami Beach, moved to the Midwest for many years, and now lives with her husband and very spoiled cats in the Arizona desert, where she is residential English Faculty at Mesa Community College. She received her Master’s and Ph.D. in American Literature from the University of Kansas, and her poems have appeared in Rattle, Smartish Pace, Common Ground Review, Prime Number Magazine, Solstice, and other publications.

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