Writing Down The Marrows Poem by A. G. Bawang

It is running with sweat suits,
Albeit barefoot, in a room
Reeking with cheap coffee
And stale take home pizza.

Each daily run
Squeezes and thickens
The sweat into ink
And turns last night’s babblings
Into words.

Sometimes I say,
“Oh, I ran yesterday.
I’m limber.”
And I try to resist every step of the long thirteenth line,
But I do it anyway.

In the middle of the run,
While the dogs howl and the rosters crow,
I will retrace my steps
And attempt to tidy.

And just as I am coming to an end
I would wish I could begin
Again.