Four Poems by Henry Wolstat

 

Forever a Runner

 

Leaving on a tour

in a few days

delayed three years

by the pandemic

I can feel the

excitement and

wonder how much

longer I can do this

as I approach my

ninth decade.

My mother called

me a “loyfer”,

Yiddish for runner,

little did she know

I would spend

a lifetime running

literally and figuratively

and loving every

step I’ve taken.

 

 

Basque Coast Tour

 

Basque coast in October

feels like mid July

warm temps and sun

but fewer tourists

panoramic views

expecting a pandemic surge

but fewer masks worn

is this what life was

like only a few years ago?

We keep traveling

making each day

of our passing years count.

 

 

Running

 

Began road racing

in the seventies

when I turned forty

Forest Gump was a

cinematic ultramarathoner

the running community

was relatively small

I knew many

running celebs

ran forty marathons

ran New York as

the new century

began and my

soon to be wife

her brother and

my son were

among the spectators.

 

Now, on the eve

of another New York city

marathon, I’m aware

that I’m down to

one five K a year

relishing my daily

walks and slow jogs.

 

 

The Rain in Spain

 

I’ve never seen the running

of the bulls in Pamplona

but on this rainy morning

I did see the walking of

the tourists along the path

and followed the footsteps

of Hemingway to Cafe Iruna

the sun never rose and

a lonely accordionist

played tangos in

the town square

as I contemplated the

lost generation of

Papa’s decade.

much has changed

in this hundred years

but each July the

bulls run, and the

toreadors await

to send them to

their demise.

Henry Wolstat is a retired psychiatrist in his late 80’s living in the greater Boston area with his wife.  He is the author of a poetry book, “Driftwood”.  He has also been published in both printed anthologies and online.  He is passionate about running, the arts, and poetry.