When I Jog Poem by Adrian Flett

When I jog, each metred foot is thrust
one after the other in rhythmic procession.
For with each iambic pentameter must
the mind jog in obedient succession.
The body locks into a steady tread
a treadmill for the mind to follow;
for the heroic line is the neural lyre,
the measure for the mind's voice to borrow.
A runner bustles by with disdainful ease
striding passed me with graceful pace
and I remind him as the heel of each
iambic foot rises in my face,
"Ah! Runner, you may not know it
but you just passed a poet."