The Whine of the Ancient Marathoner

Let us go then, you and I

When the morning is bleeding out against the sky

Like a face planted hard against the pavement.

Let us go through certain crowded streets

Join the myriad shuffling feet

After sleepless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And Italian restaurants serving mounds of pasta shells

Streets that go nowhere in particular

But at least are closed to the vehicular

That lead you to an overwhelming question:

Oh do not ask the point

Let us go and rock the joint.

***

In the corrals the women come and go

Talking about Greta Waitz and Alison Roe.

***

I should have been a pair of ragged sneakers

Shuffling through a closet full of tee-shirts.

***

As I talk I begin to slobber

As I move I’m at best a jogger.

***

I grow old I grow old

My trousers feel like they hold a load.

***

Is it the perfume from my mess

That confirms I have regressed?

***

In the corrals the women come and go

Talking about Greta Waitz and Alison Roe.

***

I have measured out my life in crushable Dixie cups.

We linger by the water stations far too long

Slap too many hands of the ebullient throng

As we dodge and dance our way towards the victor’s crown

‘Till faster runners pass us and we frown.