Image: MinaLegend via Flickr
balance stacked chairs on my shoulders,
nested chair legs framing my face.
Prop one foot
on the stripped futon frame:
In the basement
I run short sprints
among washing machines and tenants’ bicycles.
My neighbor appears, helmeted for a ride.
Twice in two days she’s found me loitering here,
the sullen basement troll.
I retreat deeper under the building
to pace my low interval in a darker corner
until solitude is restored.
On our first date
he bikes me home and then asks
to come in and use my restroom.
Post-toilet he takes off his bike shoes and I show him
how to stand on the Bosu ball
that I found by the dumpster.
He holds my hands for balance.
How long since you swept?
Try foam rolling in black pants.
You’ll find out.
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