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A Janitor’s Son Jogs

Posted on April 29, 2025May 20, 2025 By admin No Comments on A Janitor’s Son Jogs
Philosophy & Poetry

I jog every morning

through a business park here

those metal boxes with windows like blank eyes —
I think about my father

not because he worked in one.
he didn’t.
but they sound like him
quiet on the inside.

they’re empty,
no voices, no motion.
just dust and a loading dock —
life gets dropped off there,
and shipped out the back.

he was a custodian-
swept up after crack babies

wiped their walls clean

of their vulgar noise

he was home most nights,
sat in front of the tv

like he was practicing being a ghost.
never warning me

of the grim life ahead

I clocked in, clocked out,

eaten alive by fluorescent lights and Monday mornings.

felt the same thing moving into my chest —
a quiet kind of cancer.
not the killing kind.
just the kind that steals your name.

these buildings, they don’t say “work.”

they say rot.

they say hand-me-down despair.
just shrines to repetition,
to never getting out.

and maybe that’s why I run.

not to lose weight.
not to live longer.

I run to dodge the bloodline.

I run like hell to stay just ahead

of becoming another man

who dies standing in place.

 

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