the silly season in poetry

while you were out running the Boilermaker marathon
I was in an air conditioned bedroom with my jammies on
what are you doing with your life?

while you were out there sweating in the streets
I was in the sweet dark sleeping in my sheets
what are you doing with your life?

while your running vests were rubbing your nipples
at seven in the morning all bloody and raw
I didn’t even wake until about one-thirty
snoring out sweet songs like a chainsaw
what are you doing with your life?

whatever your time was
whatever place you took
if there’s a God
writing scores down in a book
I won
I won
I won