Last Sunday I posted the video from my daughter’s band competition at state. Two days earlier, my son ran at the cross country regional meet and had his best day.
He wouldn’t like this poem. He’s already working to beat his time.
CROSS COUNTRY: REGIONALS
Sixty-four degrees and the wind
is shifting north when you
take off in your flame-colored
shoes. I follow you from checkpoint
to checkpoint around the course
my teeth grinding my hand slapping
my thigh urging you on ever faster,
while I forget what you said last
night, set aside the things you’ll
never forgive me for, simply cheer
for these 17 minutes and 44 seconds
in which everything is right.