Pace

Pacing,

I always seem to be pacing,

it’s a fact of life for me,

I don’t even know when I began pacing,

it’s like it was always there.

My parents told me

“you never even walked“,

I started pacing.

Pacing has a rhythm to it,

a pace, to use the word,

all it’s own,

Maybe ten

or fifteen paces

up turn around and reverse.

Sometimes,

I like to shake it up a bit,

maybe cut it short

one step,

But only one step

or it will throw

the

whole

rhythm

off.

Pacing,

it’s what I do;

you know that stupid verb commercial,

With Apollo Ono,

He stands there in his ice blades,

you see flashes of his

speed

skating

down the icy track

and, get this, he says;

“It’s what I do”.

I go through carpet

like a termite

goes

through

wood.

Most of my household budget goes to throw rugs

and padding

and socks

and shoes.

Some women buy shoes for comfort

or to match an outfit,

I buy shoes for how long they can last with my pacing.

Pacing has always fascinated the people in my life,

both family

and friends wonder what causes this,

why do I pace,

well why do people bite their nails,

or chew pencils,

they just do,

no doctor can explain it,

no quack can cure it,

it just is,

and I just do.

Pacing,

it’s just a part of me

like my hands are a part of me.

I wouldn’t be who I am

if I didn’t pace,

I would be plain,

ordinary,

just blah.

But I’m not,

cause I pace,

that makes me who I am,

makes me different

from you

and

anyone else.

Only time I don’t pace is if I’m in a car,

but get me on a train

or a bus

and I wear out

the rubber mats,

the carpet,

or at least I put a good dent into them.

I even pace in my sleep,

at least my last lover told me I did,

my legs won’t stop moving,

there’s nothing wrong with my legs,

they just have a will

or mind to pace.

Pacing,

I always seem to be pacing,

and until I die,

I’ll forever be pacing.

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