221/365

they’re running.
the light casting shadows
the color of honey.
a flimsy blonde breeze
cuts the tropical heat,
making the evening bearable.

they’re running.
father and daughter
four point nine eight
kilometers tonight
through the park
on a national holiday.
they dodge babies
in strollers, runners,
and toddlers on bikes.

they’re running.
she begrudgingly at fifteen
he sanguine at middle age.
it’s getting easier.
she walks less.
less defiant.
gives him control
of the music
more often.

they’re running.
passed the flags
the ocean beyond,
littered with wind surfers
and tanker ships.
songs from his youth
and his current band’s set list
push them forward.

they’re running.
some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses.
leavin' on a southern train
only yesterday
you lied
promises
of what i seemed to be

they’re running.
almost home.
point two kilometres left.
let’s run this as fast as we can,
he pleads. she starts
to pick up speed.
is this a race? will he catch her?
they awkwardly high five
in the end. something has changed.

they’re
running.
togther.