The morning race

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My steps didn’t slow even though I barreled through the finish line,

then another, then another.

The gossamery tape placed by the eight-legged course marshals.

Sometimes it would be an arm swung ahead, but mostly my torso

and face collected the finish line film.

I only hoped I wasn’t trailing behind me spiders flip-flopping

trying to understand why their carefully laid traps

were now in ruin.

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