To the Bellmore Strider’s 4th of July Run
Championing the road with remarkable alacrity
We run, run, run. And we run.
Severe concrete smacks every sure step,
By step by step; hot enough to melt the soles.
The gritty sweat of it—the grueling salty
Thirst of it—the awful sun performs
Its duty, photon by photon—
painful inch by inch,
With sheer force and determination.
But one runner’s shackles are another’s spurs
Gauged to the physics of victory
And accomplishment,
And all our greatest expectations.
Unparalleled effort all the way—
Sort of—well, maybe not my every step.
But who looks at my performance anyway?
That honor’s reserved for the best,
Those who are ahead of the pack,
Backs to the rest of us.
Those who are fated to win,
Blessed with this sort of thing:
Possessed in a way that others like me
Can only admire and watch in awe.
So my every step is in faithful duty as they
Stride across the finish line. Forcefully,
Skilled, in elegant effortless demonstration—
Did they even break a sweat or breathe hard?
We marvel at the granite-like records.
It’s more than a run, the timely results are
Legend, part of our very Freedom and Independence,
Achievement in all its sacred glory.
Stephen Cipot
