The RaceWhenever I look up over my head,
In the middle of the day,
I see a shining, round sphere,
Spinning around in the sky.
Whenever I look behind my desk,
In the middle of the night,
I see the short, dull hand,
Falling behind the minute hand.
Whenever I look up and I see—
I see them now! Both of them!
And they’re going and I can see—I
See both of them spinning around an—
It’s an imaginary track! And they’re racing and
I’m trying to keep up but I don’t
Think I can keep track of both because
They’re both just flying through space so
Fast in their race against time and they’re—
They’re moving so fast and the hand is
Going even faster and is about to pass the—oh,
The sphere is moving faster again! Or is it
The clouds that are moving faster that makes it
Seem like the…Where did the sphere go?
Never mind what I just said…
I wasn’t set in my “writing” mentality,
Confined behind the reach of sentimentality,
When I clearly should have tried to conjure up words I couldn’t define,
But is lost time something that can—I can find?
I’d be lying if I said these words mean anything to me
Or if I said if I had enough leisure time to see what I want to see
But I still stop to think and wonder,
Was that not the best race ever?
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]
Copyright © 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose ©
2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.