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the slug won
the half-marathon
by a hair’s breadth.
his muscles pumped
like pistons, as
he escaped each
hoe and boot heel.
nearing the finish line
amidst a cacophony
of cheering, he slid
the final mile on a
trail of his own slime,
finally landing
on a large, fully ripe
tomato. everyone
loves a winner, but
the slug is smart enough
to remain modest.
and the best part
is that he gets
to do it all again,
tomorrow.
