doing the math

I can't meet you for coffee
today, she tells me
on the street, while eating
a celery stalk.
i'm in training for a five k.
and after that, if I don't get injured
and I have the entry fee money,
a ten k. she's jumping in place,
stretching in her purple tights.
her new orange running shoes
squeak against the sidewalk.
what's a k, I ask her.
what happened to miles?
are we a metric country now?
when did that happen?
I don't know what you're talking
about, she says, taking
a gulp of water from
a bottle attached to her
utility belt. she's sweating
and nearly out of breath.
I might enter the half
marathon in the spring, she says,
jumping up and down,
reaching her arms over
her head and swaying
them back and forth.
how many k's is that, I ask.
I don't know. maybe
12? i'm not sure, i'll
have to do the conversion
math. i'm getting a headache,
I tell her, do you have
any aspirin. she takes
out two white pills
from a pouch on her belt
and hands them to me.
how many milligrams is this,
I ask.
I don't know she says, taking
her pulse with two fingers
on her wrist, but
I have to go now. bye.