Bob

He used to race 100 miles

And tell us all about it.

We always saw him running,

So we had no cause to doubt it.

 

The races that I entered then

Were 6.2 in miles

And mostly run in Central Park;

We differed in our styles.

 

I still get out and walk each day,

My racing days behind me,

And early morning, by the river,

That is where you’ll find me.

 

Yet he sits mostly on a bench,

His walker at the ready,

The river feeling far away;

His gait is too unsteady.

 

I used to marvel at the thought

Of hundred mile races,

But seeing where we’re both at now,

I’d not be trading places.