Because Public Shame Is Occaisionally A Necessity

Dear reader, in order to properly poemlogue this poem, I have to make a shocking and shameful confession.

I am a power walker.

Yes, a power walker. One of those people with bent elbows swinging you see on the side of the road and instantly, almost despite yourself, want to smash to paste beneath your tires. One of those people you sometimes see in the mall very early in the morning, before the stores have even opened up, zooming past you with footsteps that you notice are nightmarishly in tune with “Eye of the Tiger.” One of those people who invest in sports bras and special power walking shoes (yes, there are such things) and breathable athletic shorts simply to, well, walk.

But there is a reason behind this madness, dear reader! For the walk is an important — nay, essential! — part of the creative process! For the walk stills the mind! Centers it! The walk is the only time during the day when I’m not, well, thinking about fashion and diamond heart necklaces and the awful sin of sixteen birthstone grandmother rings! And focusing! Seeing! The things one will see! Which are, sadly, often smashed to the paste one often wants to smash power walkers into. Thus, the poem:

Roadside

[Nasties.]