100 Yard Dash

trackfield

We measured it carefully
with a 100 foot tape,
dad’s longest tape
in an encased disk.

Starting at the mailbox,
a natural line post,
I held the disk
and you pulled the tape
all the way down
tar-covered Buckskin Road
until the full length was out.

You marked the spot
and called me to come,
and you kept walking,
so we walked in tandem
until I found your mark
and stopped.

You marked 200 feet,
and we repeated
until 300 feet
were measured,
100 yards,
the premier sprinting
distance of our day,
before a metric system
entered our world.

Then it was take turns
with the timer
on the new digital
wristwatch.

On your mark,
get set,
go (beep),
12 seconds, beep,
11 seconds, beep,
10 seconds, beep,

as we practiced
flying down the road
day after day
we became
stronger,
faster,
until we both
set high school records,
you in high hurdles,
and I in low hurdles
and mile relay.

Seems we haven’t
stopped sprinting
these past 35 years,
and I must admit,
I’m getting a little tired,
brother,
but I can’t seem
to slow down,
and I trace my mania to that
100 yard dash.

About stevenddorsey

I have been an avid writer for as long as I can remember. I enjoy composing poetry, lyrics, children's books and fiction for young adults. I have traveled the world extensively in my 25+ year career as an International Development professional and executive. I have lived in Europe, Latin America, and Africa. I speak Spanish and French. I married Rachel Miltimore in 1985. We have five children and five grandchildren. We currently live in Manassas, Virginia. We enjoy writing children's books together.
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