To the editor: A poem called ‘C.W.’ |

To the editor: A poem called ‘C.W.’

To the editor:To the editor:

To the editor:

I was just about out the door.

With my hot cup of “Joe.”

When she said; “Ha, if you’re not doing anything this afternoon?

Stop by the track.

It’s the Clint Wells.”

I stopped and said, “Thanks! I didn’t know!”

I walked back into the bakery shop.

An old man with a story.

And an ear that would not turn away,

You know, I ran second place, to him once.

Twenty years ago.

He was 20 in his prime.

I was 40 something, well past mine!

The fourth of July, in Meeker.

I didn’t know who he was.

I only saw him for a little while!

I thought he was a rabbit.

Way too fast at the start.

Another young rookie, he will learn!

The double batch of coffee was starting to kick in.

But Slow!

I had worked a 12-hour night shift.

At the power plant.

And now, was trying to win?

But not a chance!

For he was a half mile ahead!

The pack behind me, I could not see.

When I turned up east on main street.

And started a sleepy kick.

He had long since won!

I was disappointed!

I could not compete, for a win!

But my friend she said;

“Do you know who that was?”

I didn’t know!

The rabbit?

The young rookie?

That started, way too fast?

Let him go!

He will die in the two miles?

He didn’t die at five thousand meters either!

As we drove back to Craig, it started to snow.

On the fourth of July!

Back from the past!

Cold rain cascades down my windshield.

As runners pass on the track.

A relay race, the girls, it’s the Blue and Grey!

They are far ahead, clean hand offs!

Through windshield wipers and cracked front glass,

A cold, wet, west, wind, I could tell they did win!

The wind picked up and so the rain.

They run for their tents of brightly colored canvas.

Pictures, painted for a lifetime, will last.

Listing to the rain.

For storm clouds will pass.


Spring time?

In the Rocky’s!

What a blast!

Duane Koukol
Duane Koukol

Duane Koukol


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