Running
︎︎︎ Andre Peltier
︎ SEPT 14, 2021
People run
in groups,
in pairs,
w/ dogs on leashes,
for cabs & for their
lives.
People run
through woods,
down trails,
over hills,
across roads &
sidewalks.
Running for food
or health
or from police.
Running w/ music
or podcasts
or w/ babies in
strollers
or chatting w/ their
companions.
“It’s a lovely day,”
they say to one another
in their expensive shoes
& expensive shirts,
breathable yoga pants
& baseball caps.
“Let’s do another mile,”
they say as they
break a sweat
& lose their breath.
Always chasing
something.
Never catching the truth.
Unable to wrest it
from hiding places:
It rests always
over the next horizon,
beyond the next
rainbow,
around the next corner,
behind the next tree.
We run
to ward off the
future.
We run to hold time
frozen in amber.
One more mile
& we postpone the
void.
One more lap
& we can return
to the world
to shower and face
the day,
but facing that truth
is hard.
No amount of laps can
Forestall
the end of the race.
There’s the ever leering
photo finish,
but we’re afraid to
leer back.
What are a few years
more or less?
Where is the finish line?
Always right in front of us…
until it isn’t.
in groups,
in pairs,
w/ dogs on leashes,
for cabs & for their
lives.
People run
through woods,
down trails,
over hills,
across roads &
sidewalks.
Running for food
or health
or from police.
Running w/ music
or podcasts
or w/ babies in
strollers
or chatting w/ their
companions.
“It’s a lovely day,”
they say to one another
in their expensive shoes
& expensive shirts,
breathable yoga pants
& baseball caps.
“Let’s do another mile,”
they say as they
break a sweat
& lose their breath.
Always chasing
something.
Never catching the truth.
Unable to wrest it
from hiding places:
It rests always
over the next horizon,
beyond the next
rainbow,
around the next corner,
behind the next tree.
We run
to ward off the
future.
We run to hold time
frozen in amber.
One more mile
& we postpone the
void.
One more lap
& we can return
to the world
to shower and face
the day,
but facing that truth
is hard.
No amount of laps can
Forestall
the end of the race.
There’s the ever leering
photo finish,
but we’re afraid to
leer back.
What are a few years
more or less?
Where is the finish line?
Always right in front of us…
until it isn’t.
Andre Peltier is a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he has taught African American Literature, Afrofuturism, Science Fiction, Poetry, and Freshman Composition since 1998. He lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan, with his wife, children, turtles, dog, and cat. His poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming from various journals and anthologies.