I ran too far down Pompey Hollow Road,
Too far beyond the turn I’d planned to take.
The fields I passed were summer-green, un-mowed;
Though soon, I knew, they’d feel the blade and rake.
I ran too far without a proper plan
Of double socks or anything to drink,
Aware a crow was watching as I ran,
And wondered what the midnight bird must think
To see a man lose water through his sweat,
And smell the desperation on his skin
As desperately he sucks his shirt to get
Whatever moisture he can gather in.
But in the end I smiled at all I’d done
In fifteen miles of just a ten mile run.
This sonnet is available in my book, “26.2 Sonnets for Runners.”