Come On
We are perfectly synchronized.
Our feet pounding the same rhythm, singing an accomplished pain
We fly like sails through the wind
Catching the gusts on the flat back stretch
Using that mechanic momentum to move us around the curve
Our lungs screaming for air
Frantically latching on to wisps of oxygen swirling around us like clockwork
Now listen:
Bum Bum. Bum Bum. Bum Bum.
And you can feel it, your rugged heart
Longing to leap from your chest and tear apart the interlocking seams of your ribs
The sun illuminates the beads of crystalline sweat
Delicately poised on the brilliant filaments that line your chest
And I can see it; beating hysterically and reverberating through your skin
Breathless, I yell at you: “come on!”
As if I can reach your wrist and drag you behind me with my words
As if my winded calls can make you run next to me
I like to imagine my encouraging efforts are not wasted on the wind when I pass you
Because—
Yeah. It burns. Trust me, I know it does.
It burns like the oil that bounces back to kiss your arms after you drop a pancake into the Sizzling pan
It burns like a bruise over an overly crisp tan
It burns like the Tiger Balm you slather on yourself like an Irish girl coating herself in Sunscreen
It burns like your logic just got a hole poked through it by a fourth grader who waves his Hand and says:
“Oooo, better put some ice on that burn.”
And that last stretch.
The longest 50 meters of your life.
Your vision blurs:
The whites, too bright to look at, the dark patches of color devastatingly black
You want to disintegrate into the sloppily painted tar
Your legs cry with exhaustion, if jelly has the ability to vocalize a state of being
And as if I can reach your wrist and drag you behind me with my words, I yell:
“Come on!”
