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Poem.. Rat Race

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In the bustle of daily commuting I find

I increasingly seem to be falling behind

its puzzling and rather depressing to see

just how many people walk faster than me.

I know that it’s not a pedestrian race

but there’s still competition to stay with the pace.

I’m still in a hurry, my pace isn’t slow

but they’re making me look like I’ve nowhere to go.

They bustle and weave to the head of the line

like their job is much more important than mine.

Trying to pretend that as swift over-takers

they’re vigorous, go-getting movers and shakers.


I used to take pride

in my spirited stride

and would gleefully wonder how long it would take

for the slow and unfit to be left in my wake.

I really don’t know when the slowdown began

but I’m starting to look like an ambling man.


Now I have to accept that a healthy young lad

might, in a fair race, beat a something-ish dad

But that round little fat girl half my size

with an audible rasp from her corduroy thighs

whose short chubby arms seem to scoot her along

will also dart past in the hurrying throng.

And did I imagine or actually see

her teddy bear rucksack waving at me?

Although she is young and undoubtedly keen

she isn’t athletic or sporty or lean,

her arse is the oversize waddling kind,

so how does she constantly leave me behind?

How can I challenge her? what can be done -

an undignified trot, a desperate run?


Options are few

but I know what I’ll do

to get back in control -

…..I’ll affect a cool stroll.


You hurry past baby, I really don’t mind,

I’m a man unconcerned with the day to day grind.

Fly to your workplace, fast as you can

but me, I’m a loose livin’, slow-walkin’ man,

just takin’ my time and enjoyin’ the day,

not rushin’ around in that hot-headed way.

And wherever I go you can safely assume

that nothin’ goes down until I’m in the room.

I’m takin’ a stroll so the folks gotta wait.

And no mother**cker tells me that I’m late.



There’ll be envious glances, questioning talk

‘bout the self-possessed guy with nonchalant walk.

Brows will be wrinkled, goals re-appraised,

serious questions on life could be raised.

And I’ll draw on a cigarette cool as can be

as they slow to a casual saunter like me.

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