Thanksgiving Jog

The ever lowering temperature
personified itself as wisps of
breath as she ran—
faster and faster because the night’s
obstacles consisted of
a string of potholes,
lonely immigrants and coyotes.

While she kept a steady pace,
scents of tradition and love
and obligation
were wafting through the air
in the form of scalloped potatoes,
green bean casserole and burnt dinner rolls—
irritating reminders of
Thanksgiving.

At least 45 minutes,
that’s what she needed
to distress, to distract herself.
Yet curiosity led her to peak
into the lit windows of each
picket-fenced home she passed.
Was everyone else allowing
the holiday to sink in
and choose—
or pretend
to focus
on what made up the good
thus far?