Out for a jog.

The splintered edges of the vertebrae
grind with the stretching movement.
I continue expanding my lungs
despite the argument of bones.
We numbed the area around the opening
through which the fat would be extracted,
attached a tap,
turned it open,
let the fluid pour into the pan.
She had never been happy
about her flanks and always
enjoyed her burgers
extra sodden...
all said and done
it was a happy medium.
I had made a good score that evening;
enough Dandelion root to cleanse
the circulatory system
of an Elephant,
and burdock, too.
This would all soon enough be illegal;
traded on the black market
making me a criminal
in the eyes of society...
in the eyes of the law
my time had long since expired,
the same officer keeps leering at me,
twisting his cuffs in his hand and
greedily sizing up my wrists,
expecting to at any moment
become my opposite number
and give chase,
it would be something like morris dancing,
his truncheon and my Tibia
replacing the usual clash of sticks,
then I'd be the handkerchief
falling through the air.
I didn't relish this prospect,
it put something of dash
into my stride
which until then had been casual,
I wanted nothing
of his cuffs.
But a dash is good,
you free up and let loose,
bound across the pavement
like you did in youth.
Occasional glances to the sides,
a shield wall of windows,
throngs of passers by
muttering in unison.
The day departs, the night
finds you in flight
beneath the streetlight audience,
coming to, the song of screeching traffic
seems to whisper “go home,
tomorrow there is work to do.”
And you look down
And wonder why you are holding dandelion root.