We see our hero trundle westward to Bath
	For a half
Marathon charity run (though he
	Lamentably
Has not passed round the collection tin
	What a sin

His training is over, every muscle strained,
	Now on train
Each operating within acceptable limits
	Though the din –its
Unbearable as he wants rest, needs quiet:
	They riot.

He tries to find the silent space within
	Reached by gin
Or miles of running until ham-strings play	
	(or snap and fray)
And figure why? How was this course begun?
	Why does he run?
Why sign up? Did he care for the cause?
	Pause.
A bit. Maybe. Not enough to endure
	This pure
Savage schedule over so short a phase
A dim haze:
Cycle to and from a full day’s school
	What a fool
To then run, and make date-night a chore:
	Heads for the door
Drunk nothing to her four, thinks ‘she’s done’
	And he runs… And he runs..

In the rattling coach he sees the geriatric
	Nose apick
And the blotchy lardy bekidded mum,
	(could be fun…!?)
Shrieking at her screeching hyper brood
	(quiet coach –rude!)
And the plagued dozen who snort and sneeze
	Ham and cheese
Baguettes, smearing the seats and windows
	Mucus flows
Is it for this malodorous shrieking dozen
	That he runs?
Does he do it for opprobrium from his peers
	Rounds of cheers
As he becomes The Guardian’s modern man
	Not an ‘also ran.’
But these dopey sods wouldn’t notice yet another
	Sad runner.

Well me mucker- Hah baht da birds den?
	Do it for them!
They’ll fall for swollen calves like knots
	Sweaty blots
Across the shirt, proclaiming ‘man of action’
	(smelly fun)
	“Yeah, I run!”
Turn up to a meal with trainers and bag
	Wave the flag
“Been training – yah – whole marathon
	-Lotta fun!”
Can’t manage more than two dates a week
	Only two a week!?
But before the starters, feel half dead
	Asleep in bread.
When woken for mains still too tired to speak
	Two a week!?
And finish lamely with “that was fun, gotta run”
	Empty tum.

Does he do it for himself then? It’s killing him!
	He feels slim
But that’s the cycling not the miles and miles
	Miles more miles
His feet flap over, his knee joints squeaking, speaking
"You’re peaking
	You’re peaking
		You’ve peaked
			The real run’s coming
				Just next week!"

And on the train he grabs his toight thews
And mews
Cause they quake at being so few stops away
Now bladder wants to play
Must stay the course, but doubts he can
	He’s human	

Should never have signed, should’ve been excused
	Had booze
Instead, should’ve said, “I could’ve if I’d wanted to –
	Had the flu
So had to duck out – I could’ve run
	(and would’ve won… if… )”
Oh sure, easy to become one of those – “I should’ve,
I could’ve,
Wanted to, but couldn’t do.” Why? “Well I’ve many cares-
	Uh state of affairs…
-Twisted ankle, busted shoe, moving, new bride,
	Wife died.”

But for him there’s no avoiding the situation
The train creeps inexorably into Bath station.

And when, panting, crosses the finishing line
	Under time
His first thought “Now my son… a man… et cetera”
	Raison d’etre
Accomplished, he’ll leisurely to London return
	And burn
With pride – “Hey weren’t you in Vietnam?!”
“No man. I ran!”

“Gonna take date night by the throat
	(Single mother?... get your coat)
Gonna learn the kids good, Ofsted take note
	Teach by wrote
Gonna poet –you know it – gonna dote
	On float-
-Ing linebreaks – well, I’ll make a note
	(Could’ve wrote…)
But fuck it! Fuck you! What have you done?
	I’ve run
		“A whole marathon?”
Shit!