the black nail
withered and fell
to the dirt road
as he ran his hundredth
mile. Up cedars and pine in
what was to be his last time.
he squirmed and wiggled and gritted
his way to the finish line.
this race was no different than the hundreds before.
tossing and turning in the weeds and mud
under panting clouds.
new air was breathed into him and he
showered victorious.
the crowd lifted him up
and strove off to the bar down the dirt road and over the mini mountain.
beers all around! burritos piled his plate.
miles and miles and miles and miles
to fill his hungry runner’s gate.
the hours roll on
the runners tumble in
the bar bloats with friends
a town deserted stuffs its face,
hanging over wooden stools
crunching saw-dust floors,
pumping cheers in the musky air,
dripping tears of joy and survival.