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Lexington Poetry Month
Muscle Memory
article by
Larry Wheeler

Scrape, scrape, scratch, scrape.
 He’s scratching the floor
around his food bowl again.
Scrape, scratch, scratch, scrape.
A million generations
at the end of his paw.
Scratch, scrape, scrape, scratch.
Concealing the carcasses
of goats and gazelles.

Run, run, kick, run.
Sturdy men running
with one goal in mind.
Run, run, run, kick.
Forty-five minutes and
the ball goes in the net.
Run, jump, shout, hug.
Tired legs rejoicing that
the mastodon is down.


4 responses to “Muscle Memory”

  1. Amy Cunningham says:

    Paleo diet!

  2. Rae Cobbs says:

    What an interesting mix of consciousnesses! The mastodon at the end give the whole poem fire.

  3. Melva Sue Priddy says:

    I like the last line too, but also:

    A million generations
    at the end of his paw.

  4. Kathleen Gregg says:

    Love this comment on the primitive instinct to overcome and master what is bigger than ourselves! You do have a way with words, Larry!

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