The Poetry Marathon

One of us was bent

Over-smelled the musky scent,

Twisted inside our tent

As together we were meant

To climax and be spent.

Off am I to a rough start, a minute late, or two,

Scrambling to write a poem that is good enough for you.

I must apologize, for a tiny one it be,

But it’s enough to greet the day, and that is fine with me.

It is merely an hour and a half to the commencement of the marathon, and I’m just now posting my introduction. So, you know that I procrastinate. In truth, I only found out about this a few days ago. As I have not written anything in roughly four years, I figured this would be an opportune challenge to begin again. I’m eager to compare myself in the wee hours, to the me passed out on the finish line.