Late for work, I jogged two blocks and felt an ache–
a nag, not bad, but strange–I was young and healthy.
I stopped and so did the pain, quick as it came,
at the center of my chest, where I'd been careless.
I had no disease, as long as no one said so;
but Cathy's dad had died at forty-five,
and I knew another who dropped in his yard at fifty.
Not ready for that, I went to see my doctor.
He talked, took blood, and ran me on a treadmill
and at the end said, This is not your heart.
Go exercise, just use your common sense.
So I eat less fat, lift weights and bike a bit,
and the pain, the pain that doesn't bother him,
tugs like a leash whenever I try to run.