Human Race

Naisha Roy ⋅ April 26th, 2020

Naisha Roy, Copy Editor

I’ve always thought it funny

That we call it the human race

What, pray tell, are we running from?


And what, pray tell,

Are we running for?


Tomorrow is the light at the end of the tunnel

Today is the faded graffiti marred by stains

Tomorrow is the hanging fruit glimmering from the doorway

Today is another piece of bread 


A funny word, race.

There’s the pushing and shoving kind

The running and sprinting kind

The discriminating and killing kind

From the tortoise to the hare to MLK

All for



Were we born to run?

Or were we born to cripple?

And if distance is measured in time

Then is my one-eternity-sprint

Your tomorrow?


No participation medals, you say

Cutthroat tripping, untied shoelaces

Three gold trophies for seven billion runners

Do the losers get

A tomorrow?


The track under my feet explodes

And the girth in your laugh mimics the blast

Why are you still running?

You respond

“For tomorrow”


It has a ring to it

Human race, a euphemism 

For an inhuman abomination


Tomorrow, you tell me,

It will be fine

But what, pray tell,

Is the finish line?