the foot race

once, coming out of a bar,
after several drinks,
maybe a lot of drinks
and devouring potato skins
loaded with cheese
and bacon and sour cream,
and flirting with every
woman within earshot
of our youthful swagger,
and after singing most
of the bruce springsteen
catalog, from greetings
from Asbury park
to dancing in the dark,
howling to thunder road,
we left the bar together,
forced out into the world
by closing time.
he said let's race, I feel
fast tonight, he said.
we were both in our
dress shoes, our coats
and ties, sweating from
the long happy five hours,
we were young with heads
full of hair, anything
was possible.
so we pointed towards
a tree at the far end
of the parking lot
where the pavement ended
and the woods began,
someone said go
and we ran. we ran, we ran.
sprinting into the warm
darkness of a summer night.
i'll remember this night.
i'll remember many
nights as we carry him now
to his grave.