Changing of the Guard

for Eitan

I'm not sure what I was thinking

on the cusp of my sixty-ninth birthday,
when I challenged my not quite ten-year-old son

to a 100-metre sprint at Booth Park.

I think I figured I was still quick enough
to have his measure

and I matched him for the first 50 metres or so

before I slowed and he didn't,
not because of my lack of stamina

but those suddenly urgent, intrusive thoughts

of tearing a muscle in calf, hamstring or thigh,
muscles unused now to this kind of exertion—

caution that may have been justified

given noticeable twinges in thigh and groin
when I rose stiffly from bed the next morning.