Peeking through bleachers
Spotted a Nike sign;
they’re best known for making sneakers.
Up stairs with your feet
down below to watch a futbol feat.
your body prefers you get off your ass and move your feet.
Game starts with empty seats,
makes no sense like Meek Mill’s speech.
Hustled them mics in Philly streets,
no longer brave, Anacondas make him weep.
I got off track,
like yoga class at a football field’s track.
Stretching and reaching for a fine apple.
Jealousy of Johnny Appleseed,
you’re spreading seeds while performing yoga deeds.
Yoga pants, make men dance, placed in a trance
no long breathes, belt on, yet still pants.
Unfulfilled with yoga pants unfilled, avoided the clothing rack to cop a feel.
Shit gets real, watching yoga class from his window sill.
starting to sound like a creeper’s zeal.
Ok back on topic, I got my mind out of the gutter, and washed it.
I’m catching all my mistakes like Derek Jeter.
Listen to life as your teacher, you’ll never get anywhere hiding behind those bleachers…