The Race Poem by Gordon D Wilkinson

I can tell by the number of runners that this is going to be tough
This course is the most arduous and to the end rough
Everyone jostling for position wanting to be first away
Fair play and manners are not going to come into it today
As we approach the start line, funnelled is fine
The race is on which will take a long time
The stampede that follows the gun is no fun
Into the walls many fall out each wanting to be the bun
Many just run as far as they can the run out of steam
Battling my way forwards it’s like a bad dream
Elbowing my way through not far from the front
Man, some of these contenders suck, to be blunt
Ever closer to the front I edge in
Many more weak ones hit the wall
Reaching the end their only call
Can I be the winner or will I fall
Boy, it has been so tough
And the competition rough
Still I am a winner as two of us cross the line
Both dead heated so I am undefeated
To the rostrum we are repeated
Mom you are the mother nine months later of twins