The Race
A pickup truck, its doors open
The arms open
of a full-breasted man singing
Box-spring octaves
and accordion squeezing
Tejano music easing
around houses
like juice swirled in a cup
I am not inside my head
At all?
A boy with long red shorts comes running past
His shorts are like the summers here
His ankles are like the winter
in that they turn back over
when they are rolled
The boy trips, is ran past by others
They are running to the truck
where girls have started dancing in the bed
The truck is heaving
One of the racers is not leaving
He turns his head to look
at the fallen boy. But his body hasn’t stopped
He keeps running, looking back
In a way we see everyone, all at once
How our heads are placed askew
onto already moving bodies
The look of surprise
genuine surprise
at not being able to stop
unedit 
That was superb!
Thanks Richard. I appreciate your support as always.
You’re welcome 🙂
Full-breasted man??? Do there exist not-full-breasted men as well, I wonder? 🙂
Compared to some others, I would say so.
Well … I have to give this some more thought … 🙂
I love the way this ended.
Thanks Jeremy. Hope you’re staying warm this winter. It’s 30 degrees in Texas and we’re buying out the grocery stores.
I’ve grown so accustomed to the cold that I don’t even feel it unless it gets into below 0 territory. 🙂 I’m acclimated.