A Poem: The Racers | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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A Poem: The Racers 

Bang! The racers are off!
Gliding, striding abiding,
By the rules of the track,
As fast as lightning.

Shoes flying across the tar.
Hearing, cheering, clearing
Space for the fastest runner.
As speedy as a locomotive.

Intense, super sprinter
Running, cunning, shunning,
The other rapid racers as they run past you.
Hair as tangled as vines.

The contestants are speeding bullets.
Thudding and shutting out distracting sounds.
Speeding sprinters lead the way.
You are a cheetah.

There is the finish line!
Racing, pacing, chasing,
Each other to get to the finish line.
Everyone with winged feet.

The stadium is crowded with fans.
Packed, racked, clickity clack,
Is the sound of the fans’ feet
Jumping up and down on the bleachers.

You break threw the rectangular red tape.
Clapping, rapping, lacking
Your breath you are so overjoyed.
The racers give you a mix of scowls and smiles.

You have won the race!
Tired and perspired you are, so you
Decide to take a cold shower
And a nice long nap.
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