Adam At The Race
A Ballad of Altamonte Sung in the Year 2010
It was a cold Saturday morn when Adam talked to Britt,
About work and life and other random bits of shit,
Looking back now, he remembered the exact time and place
When he told his little friend he could beat her in a race.
She guffawed and cackled and teased in her smoker’s voice.
Told her husband to listen (like he even had a choice).
The two of them laughed and made it abundantly clear
That in said race, mighty Adam would take the rear.
“You’re wrong,” he said, full of confidence and strength.
“My strides are longer and my legs have more length.”
“So what,” she said, “Doesn’t matter if I’m a shorty.”
“You’re 300 pounds and I’m less than a buck forty.”
They fought like pros, arguing physics and gravity,
And said the other had their heads in a certain cavity.
“You argue in circles,” Britt said, “We’re getting nowhere.”
“We’ll have to race. Just tell me when and where.”
Adam hemmed and hawed and tried to put it off.
About his unwillingness to try, Britt began to scoff.
But work and life began to take priority instead.
And both of them eventually put the thought to bed.
Then one Tuesday bright, sitting in the sun,
Britt and Adam and their friend Sam were having workday fun,
When the race came up and the girls laughed with glee,
For Adam, mighty Adam, would race today, you see.
There is ease in Adam’s manner as he walks barefoot to the road.
There is pride in Adam’s bearing and no fear as he strode.
A simple sprint down the street in his quiet cul-de-sac.
No stranger to winning, Adam is ready for attack.
Two eyes are on him as Samantha stands at the finish.
Adam feels the strength in his legs like Popeye after spinach.
Britt stands beside him, her cigarette aglow.
As Sam shouts loudly “Ok! Ready! Set! And GO!”
And now his legs piston as he shoots down the street.
Britt right beside him, kicking up her tiny little feet.
She edges ahead, blonde hair glinting in the sun,
Oh, but Adam merely chuckles because he isn’t quite done.
The humor’s gone from Adam’s face, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds down the pavement as if he’s chasing his own fate.
And he sees Sam at the finish line coming up oh so fast,
And all he needs is one more burst of speed and Britt will be passed.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere children laugh and dandelions get picked;
But there is no joy in Altamonte – mighty Adam’s ass was soundly kicked.