Poetry, Spring/Summer 2011

The Morning Mile

by Meg Gibson Singley

I am destined not to run, but to sputter slowly, to amble on, wheezing, as cars zoom past me, and cyclists, their forms exposed by spandex. Other runners pass, avoiding eye contact. Children scurry on, chasing each other. A kind elderly couple saunters by, holding hands until the end. Birds fly overhead, circle in wonder, [...]

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