Run Fun

my shoes patter, metronome slow,
a cadence against the path.
then it comes—
a stampede, two hundred strong,
like a phalanx, a swarm of evening mosquitoes
in Arnhem Land,
thick, suffocating, weaving like
a snake down the track.
crossing it,
a game of frogger
I wouldn’t dare.

at first, one beast—
then, many creatures stitched together,
a tangle of life.
fit, expensive women
wrapped in "Active-wear,"
their fabric confidence.
others flop in baggy shirts,
hiding what self-esteem they cling to.
Boston Marathon shirts strut past,
peacocking, bragging
at a suburban 5K.

shirtless men,
their Tinder resumes on display,
shoes black or white,
because colour is war
in the battle for manhood.
earbuds plugged,
men keep the silence,
women break it with
oversized headphones.

the snake’s mechanics—
pin-straight runners,
gazelle-graceful,
and the giraffes
on roller skates,
an injury waiting
to happen.
the effortless passers
chat mid-stride,
others pant,
and some wheeze,
baby seals clubbed
by their own lungs.

the snake
disappears,
fades into the distance,
as my shoes tap,
steady,
metronomic,
waiting for
its return.