There are things you have to do for tax purposes,
for the constraints of living in four walls
with a roof over your head.
Things you might not have thought of.
Running miles in the footsteps of our fathers,
not changing anything for no-one either,
mittens hanging off damp wrists,
committed to the cause.
Round out the corners, shorter each time;
choose and curve our own trajectories.
Pace. Pace. Keep in line.Step, Stride.
Maybe the leader will change
in a few more loops.
Ancestral helices swirling,
everything is a lollipop from the old doctor’s office.
