Running Backpressure Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Trot, trot, slap, slap, trot, trot, slap, slap
lone highway, it is hot
and lots of inner strength on tap
a marathon it's not.

Those training runs I used to do
in early morning cool
and never wear a single shoe
some neighbours call me fool.

Thick fog one day. I could not see
the houses as I passed
my energy was running free
inside, though, I was gassed.

That barbecue with chilli beans
and Weihenstephan beer
had given me (through carbs) the means
to run in seventh gear.

But, beans explode and leave behind
the puff of fifty dragons
on contact insects do go blind
the sound is like Volkswagens.

In front of a most stately home
a thunderbolt shot out
it scared a handsome garden gnome
and there she stood, a Kraut!

'Zo, doo yoo ssink it helps yoo runn
much faaster ssroo ze bresher? '
'Oh no', I said it is pure fun
and after I feel fresher.'

She nodded then, as if to think
when, once again, it blew
I gave a small but playful wink
as if I had a clou.

A cloud had formed around the place
I made my get-away
a crimson red was on my face
I could no longer stay.

With all the speed at my command
I sprinted through the fog
Behind, the words 'I underschdand
yoo faaard und runn like dogg! '