Watching the Marathon
One block from my apartment
Is the 18-mile mark
Where the runners pass from 10 a.m.
Until it’s way past dark.
I love to join the cheering throngs
Lined up along the street,
Who clap and shout support
For all those pavement-pounding feet.
With home-made signs held up,
Some people yell to running friends;
Then there are smiles and hugs,
Providing spirit dividends.
The marathoners represent
A New York hodgepodge mix
Of body types, ethnicity
And, likely, politics.
Yet all the runners hear the cheers
And maybe get a lift,
Thoughts of Covid far away,
Which is itself a kind of gift.
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