Finish Line

The engines rev up, without a flag signal,
Down the inner straight away.

Drivers in the front seat have no names.
They’ve never loved, nor laughed,
And loneliness rides shotgun.

Blotched faces drenched in tears,
Are covered by puffy, padded racing helmets.

I lace up my shoes, bunny ear cross,
And I am being lapped by blazing painted metal.

Left, right, left right
I begin my strenuous journey.

I’m pretty sure I am last.
Yep, I am last.
Tick tock, time passes.

Waiting at the finish line,
The tired car engines rest in silence,
after their rush to be the greatest.

I am still last. Still? Still.
I guess I will just savor my jog through life,
Because I know I don’t want those finish line blues.