The Crappy Poet

I'm a twenty-something edging past newlywed and new dog owner. I run, write, I work. What else is there besides the struggle to overcome all of that and make something of myself...


Jokers and Joggers

Here in Tucson, runners and bikers HATE each other. And I can't figure out why. When I run in the street, I get harrassed by bikers, screamed at. When I run on the wash (a multi-use recreation path next to a sandbed, or "river" as they call them here) bikers who are supposed to be yielding to those slower whiz past me at such a speed and closeness that I have actually been cut by pedals on my calf. Are they angry at us because we run, therefore casting doubt on the superiority of the bicycle? Does the spandex make them irritable? I have no idea. And so I wrote this:

Two athletes, both alike in dignity,
In the Old Pueblo, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where uncivil words make civil mouths unclean.
From forth the river path of their fair town
Does the battle wage,
As biker and runner both bear down
To control their respective lane.
The fearful passage of their to and fro
And the continuance of their rage
Marks the day of overthrow,
Where none will be allowed in either lane.
The which is subject of many a quandary,
That bikers and runners fight over such a boundary.


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