#24 The Race Run

And even with my
Chest in a vice
Legs leaden,
Breath mithering,
Fighting to be
Faster than mud
As I lug my meat,
These final steps are still
A curious treat,
Me wreathed in
Inexplicable grins
Through each gasp,
Clasped fists
A secret wreath
As I whisper:
"Single to town please"
Knees forgotten,
Stick rotting in a corner
These six months,
Running for a bus
Still a triumph.