Starting from well behind the line
I ran the race as best I could.
I do not have the newer shoes
But I have legs both fast and strong.

I held my own through
The very first curve
And pulled ahead
On the straightaway.

But then the oval straightened out
And it became an endless road
So my advantage faded off
And others started catching up.

In fancy shoes
And running clothes
They gained on me
With every step.

Now in the middle of the pack
I felt the breath of those behind
Who wanted me out of their way
And nudged me over to the edge.

The tatters of my shoes fell off
And I was running barefoot
Over rocky ground that cut my feet
Not on the turf inside the track.

The race went on and I fell back
With with each and every painful step.
I was last of all the rest
As everybody passed me

The finish line came into sight
And though I had a painful limp
I struggled on to get there
The cheering was for someone else
But I was still a winner.
ljm

raced through the night
to arrive on time
had no choice
just went to sleep
and woke
to another place, in space.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                     Did Saloons Really Have Those Swinging Doors?

I’d like to mosey down to the Long Branch Saloon
In glorious CBS monochrome
Along Dodge City’s sound-stage cow-town street
And saunter through those familiar swinging doors

I’d like to order a beer from good ol’ Sam
And listen to Doc and Festus fussing at each other
While Matt and Kitty smile contentedly
And for a while we are all at peace

I’d like to mosey down to the Long Branch Saloon
That’s what I’d like, and leave the world tethered outside

Something’s happening, let’s call it sunrise, for now,
and summer vacation in Geneva, in umm.. 10 hours.
My heart-beat is spiking, like a flag or kite flying.
I’m leaving an empty room - making one last pass with a broom.

I’m stuffing my bag, with the last few things, for escape on aluminum wings.
My dreams, woven in bright, butterfly tapestries, are rolled and folded -
packed between urgent fantasies and harsh, time-sensitive practicalities.

I know you’re there, a quarter-world away, good news, pegasus awaits,
to streak gulf-stream high, over choppy oceans wide with mechanical fire,
its ice-cycle crystal contrail will point, like cherub cupid's arrow, toward you.

Forget pixels, tech instruments, remote lifeline connections,
and prayer-like whispers over thin, criss-crossed wires.
I’m making my move, coming compass-needle true,
to press up close, reintroduce, extemporize and ******.
.
.
music for this:
Someday by Sugar Ray
sunburn by almost monday
This Charming Man by The Smiths
Heaven by Los Lonely Boys