Sundays in Boston
Are all the things that are
Sunday in Boston
Making mom proud through protocol:
Grab myself a charlie card,
A bill - in case of emergency, or impulse,
And identification, the real one, of course.
A day to breathe
The fresh air of the city.
It’s always worth it,
tossing my shorts on,
And packing my bag with the alleged necessities,
Overestimating my need for water on these runs,
Underestimating these cravings for gummy bears.
Sundays in Boston
And in other parts of the world,
Bring to each their own
Hopefully a respite, yet maybe more toil,
But always something, a day different from the rest.
No music, except for the choppy cadence of my thoughts,
Until they find resolution and inspiration through humility,
And through the regard of a city,
Of a people just like you and me.
My legs are getting tight here,
It’s still January, after all,
And writing in the middle of a run,
Even when the heat is in me
In the heart of a Sunday city,
Might not be best.
Subdue last week’s stresses.
Weekend long runs
Always brings me back to square one.
(Image from timeout.com)