Poetry for Stride

The Stride (1992)

By Mary Swander

I step and stride and keep a steady pace.

What laps, oh what long laps I ran

around in circles before this day began

to train my aching muscles to ready for the race.

We spend ourselves and pay our dues, the price

for minutes saved—a second off the best, a man,

a woman out in front, trial down,

heat won, our gain, the very time we lose.

Neck and neck, I am but a nose ahead.

I am but a breath, a molecule of air.

What’s never really seen, to coin a term,

is my reserve, the fuel, smokey furnace fed.

My will, my all, I hold until the end.

Then dash and sprint, and watch my money burn.