I wrote this for a poetry contest that called for poems by runners inspired by running. I'm not a poet but I figured, eh, why not?

Ode to Swamp Ass

Nothing is better than swamp ass

on a Sunday morning. I prize

waking as the sun starts her pass

when others doze or daze through mass.

Wipe the hangover from my eyes.

Nothing is better than swamp ass.

On trail, I pound stress into grass.

Beneath flying feet self-doubt dies.

Waking as the sun starts her pass

rejuvenates tired brain mass

and earns cheeseburgers and French fries.

Nothing is better than swamp ass.

Therapy would cost major cash.

I’d rather tell my mess good-byes

waking as the sun starts her pass.

You should know I’ll never be last

or waste time whining to the skies.

Nothing is better than swamp ass

waking as the sun starts her pass.