Where we’re swift to place such emphasis
On the ‘from’ and the ‘to,’
The whys, wherefores and where-tos.
Yet the intrigue of flight
Never quite gets off the ground
When it’s just ‘a run.’
Images of fevered pursuit evaporate
With sweaty mundaneness;
No Hollywood chase scenes,
No fleeting escapism,
Just shorts and sluggish tarmac,
Parallel walking of little dogs,
Pounds on the cracked pavement.
An anodyne reassurance lies
In the humdrum passing of the runner:
Striding the straights
With purposeful façade,
To scuttle round corners
Gasping; just human after all.
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