Runner's High

you see them running.
heads bent,
some with a limp, an ache
or pain,
but there they go,
onto the streets,
or treadmill,
everyday,
in the morning, at night,
shoes
tied tight.
bone thin,
faces drawn like prisoners
starved
in some concentration
camp.
the runners go and go.
they've been bitten
by the bug.
they need their fix
to feel right.
five miles, or ten,
even one at times will do.
through the slush and rain,
the snow and ice.
they need to run.
it's an addiction now.
a need
to burn away that apple
eaten,
the piece of toast.
a bowl of rice.
it's their only way
of dealing with food
and life.