I am in a race,
hoping to get to the first place.
The blocks are set,
my feet planted firmly…
waiting anticipatedly,
pits wet
Damp-damp-damp….

It is such a lovely day,
just perfect for a runners’ fray,
timer’s gun pointed in the air.
It’s hot…moisture-anointed hair;
it’s sweat.
Clam-clam-clam-clam-clammy.

Callin’, the drill he’s calling;
there’ll be no stalling
on this track day.

“Ready,” he intones,
then moves to “Set” as on he drones.
He shoots, and we spring
from the blocks, upright,
and so begins the sprinting fight—
I’ve bet:
Num-num-num-number 1!

Fallin,’ but then I’m fallin’;
I go down bawlin’
and wracked with pain.

Oh, gallin’, this is so gallin’.
So I am callin’
this a bad day.

I’m out of the race;
ambulance takes me to the place
where I will get,
I hope, for what ails me
some dope, mainlined repeatedly…
no sweat!!
Pump-pump-pump….

Callin’, the nurse I’m callin’,
and she is bawlin’,
“This guy’s a pain!”

So, stallin’, my meds she’s stallin’,
Then it’s appallin’:
just lidocaine!!