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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420259" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Race</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">		An injury in sophomore year<br>		caused me to miss the springtime meets.<br>		I was sitting in a cast<br>		while my teammates won their heats.<br> <br> <br>		I am no brain, I can’t sit still<br>		No chance I’ll ace the S.A.T.<br>		But medal wins in track and field<br>		could mean a scholarship for me.<br> <br> <br>		Near Lewis is a cinder track-<br>		an oval of a quarter mile.<br>		So I come here to do my laps<br>		And dream of victory for a while.<br> <br>		A short fat man goes jogging by<br>		In sweat drenched shirt and navy shorts<br>		Gasping, like a fish in air, <br>		fleeing from his mortal thoughts.<br> <br> <br>		I doff my sweats and start to stretch<br>		I take no chances with this knee.<br>		Soon I’m feeling good and loose, <br>		it pays to warm up properly.<br> <br>		A tall thin runner, strangely pale, <br>		About half of the track ahead<br>		I‘ll pass him like he’s standing still<br>		Then he’ll be chasing me instead.<br> <br>		I pass the jogger right away<br>		The pale runner, though, moves speedily<br>		I pick up my pace a notch<br>		Just as quickly so does he..<br> <br>		I stretch my stride, he does the same<br>		And gains upon me steadily<br>		I thought that I was chasing him<br>		It seems instead he’s chasing me.<br> <br>		I never raced this guy before<br>		At any of the local meets<br>		He appears to be as old as me<br>		But his gear is “thrift shop” quality.<br> <br> <br>		Sure enough, he’s gaining fast.<br>		I dig down for a last reserve<br>		I didn’t think I’d lost a step<br>		Bad news, if it’s true, for me<br> <br> <br>		I hear his foot falls close behind<br>		And vainly try to stay ahead<br>		I turn my head to see his face<br>		It is the face of one long dead.<br> <br>		The ghostly winner makes a turn<br>		and passes through the gate and chains<br>		The cemetery lies beyond<br>		That holds the urn with his cremains<br> <br> <br>		“You saw him too” the fat man gasps-<br>		“I thought that he had come for me”<br>		I knew he only came to run<br>		I recognized the ghost you see.<br> <br>		“Tommy Miller was his name<br>		School Champion back in 63’<br>		.He died crossing this finish line<br>		an aneurysm in his brain.”<br> <br> <br>		Unfinished business binds him here<br>		A restless spirit, more than most, <br>		The race is ever to the swift<br>		The quick are beaten by a ghost</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420259" data-title="The Race de John F. McCullagh" data-description="		An injury in sophomore year
		caused me to miss the springtime meets.
		I was sitting in a cast
		while my teammates won their heats.
 
 
		I am no brain, I can’t sit still
		No chance I’ll ace the S.A.T.
		But medal wins in track and field
..."></div>
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