Running From High School Poem by Benjamin Feliciano

What reeks far worse than dew-soiled shoes,
Is the arrogant air of runners 'so great'.
Despite any training, I usually lose,
But hearing people brag is something I hate.
No matter the course or even the weather,
My finishing time is ne're under eighteen.
You'd think that a 'team' would try working together,
But their lack of unity makes it desirous to scream.
For one final week, I'll run with the fools,
Until at last our district meet.
I'm sure I'll do pretty well facing other schools,
But my teammates aren't nearly as neat.
All hope for regionals my senior year,
Are as gone as the respect I once had for my peers.