Boston. Marathon. 4-15-13.

This is for all victories sweetest.
Yet bitter
in the aftertaste. The after notes.
The after hours of confusion and despair.

This is for the outspread road ahead
without your daughters. Your sons.
Wives. Husbands.
Your partners. No less.

This is for missing feet. Legs.
Arms. Hearts. Spare parts
for the taking when we are at
our worst.

This is for saviors who save.
Not for killers who kill.
But martyrs who die
for all these causes. These damn causes
that only exist because we do.
This is for runners. But wait. Runners just run.
And there is no redemption in it. For running.
And there is no shame in it.
And there should be no interruption in it.
And there should be no weeping in it.
And there should be no fear in it.
And there should be no bombs in it.
And there should be no flying limbs in it.
And there should be no death. Never death.
And there should be no dispute about it. Absolute.

There should only be
100 meters
200 meters
400 meters
800 meters
1,000 meters
1,609 meters
2,000 meters
3,000 meters
5,000 meters
10,000 meters
15,000 meters
20,000 meters
21,097 meters
21,285 meters
25,000 meters
30,000 meters
42,195 meters. Tape.
Marathon completed.
Tired limbs. Breath spent. Feet blistered.
Body shaken. But
Still intact. Alive. Survivors every one.
Ready for the next
break with gravity.

This one is for you.
On your mark
get set

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