Night Poem, November 26, 2016

The Runners

 

At five-thirty it is still dark

As much night as ever

And I look out my window and see two figures

In the quarter light of the moon

Entering the light-cone of the streetlamp

My window is closed against the cold of autumn

And I cannot hear their footfalls

But they move slowly, bobbing with each stride

Their motion so odd as to almost be frightening

Their action is barely recognizable

So slow that it might be mistaken

Elbows bent, fists high

No speed, no lightness of foot, no youthful vigor

No slick gear, these women

A bit overweight

Yet they do not gasp

This is not their first time

They plod in the dark, hiding, or at least hidden

Their day has passed

And yet they seize the day

And they run and run on

Thus they begin their day with resolve and effort

Up early, against the dark and cold

Defining, declaring, executing, going

According to will, according to plan

“We can do this.  While everyone else sleeps

We will do this.  We will change our day

Our way of thinking.  It won’t cost us a dime

This is ours.”

copyright 2016

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