Game 44

CHI 84               MIA 89

Argue all you want about time--

You will still get older
And eventually
Die.

Just ask anybody.

I get it--

Time is just a word.

But so are god
And love
And chaos.

All words
Are just words.

But here’s something true:

On my thirtieth birthday,
Jeff and I went to shoot baskets.

I am on purpose
Not saying play basketball,
​
Because we didn’t.

We took shots.
Got each other's rebounds.
Hit each other in rhythm.

On the five block stroll back home
My ankle started to bother me.

And it went on to hurt
For a month and a half.

Limpingly so.

I didn't do anything to it--
Not really.

But it sure as hell hurt.

Frustrated the hell out of me.
​
Since then,
I have grown accustomed to this phenomenon.

When I wake up these days
With a sore back,
Or knee,
Or neck,
Or ankle,
Or whatever--

I don’t even ask why.

Same reason as always:

Time.