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...But I heard a crack in the distance,
then came a man’s shrill, painful yell,
I saw Tak go down in the plants,
his ankle was bent, none-to-well,
I could see it must hurt like hell.

We were up in mountain forest,
in bear country, wilderness great,
the others did not think of this,
they just kept going at their gait,
none stopped to ask ‘Are you okay?’

They just kept running down the path,
thinking only of victory,
I slowed up from my pace, quite fast,
the whole thing seemed rotten to me,
Tak could be in danger, clearly.

I made my way to the hurt man,
he was groaning, in lots of pain,
the ankle made it hard to stand,
he kept trying…trying in vain,
he looked at me, then he proclaimed:

“Damn it, Art, why are you stopping?
Get going, you can catch those guys!
There’s not point in us both losing,
you got a shot, I will be fine.
I’m sure someone will come in time.”

But I wasn’t sure of all that,
this was a small race, after all,
they didn’t have a lot of staff
to help people with a bad fall,
and they didn’t have phones to call.

I looped my arm around his back,
he leaned on me, then could stand up,
hopping, we started down the track,
at first the going was quite tough,
then a rhythm came between us.

It turned into a rolling limp,
not that quick, all the racers passed,
Tak did quite well, despite the gimp,
I knew that somehow we would last,
until we could finish the task.

It took hours, more than it should,
then the finish line came in view,
no victory had felt this good,
at least none that I ever knew,
Tak smiled when he saw it too.

The officials let us both cross,
then grabbed Tak and helped him sit down,
my back hurt and my legs were shot,
I saw the winners milling ‘round,
cheering like the toast of the town.

Despite my pain, something just snapped,
stormed up to where they caroused,
one of them had the gall to laugh,
said, “So what might your time be now?”
Then shrank back as I bellow loud:

“You saw a man in pain out there,
crippled and unable to move!
You know these hills are home to bears,
if one found Tak he would be screwed!
Couldn’t run or fight, he’d be...food!

“Is his safety worth less, I ask,
then a damn ribbon on your neck?
Is it not worth finishing last
to keep that man from being wrecked?
What made you such moral rejects?!”

They went quiet as I stomped off,
their victory made little news,
as records go, both of us lost,
but to most people’s point-of-view
I did what a good man had to do.

CONCLUDES IN PART III.
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