Walking Something
by Harry Calhoun
Most days I walk 90 black pounds of Labrador,
so I’ve started thinking that everybody I see
is walking something, if not a dog. The lady lurching
past my house this morning was walking
40 pounds of excess weight and her uneven gait
was caused by that and by trying to simultaneously
applaud herself for walking some of it off.
Today I’m mowing the lawn, walking the lawn mower
in front of me but the thoughts of work tomorrow
striding hard through the back of my mind.
I walked Susie Taylor upstairs after my first kiss
in her basement a lifetime ago, and this morning
I strutted my lovemaking, emphasis after all these years
on the love, to my beautiful wife. We’re always walking
something, evidence that as Pascal said, all of our misfortune
comes from our inability to simply
sit quietly in a room.
"Walking Something" has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Boston Literary Magazine!
