Chasing Koreans
They are so fast
There are so many of them
I am ashamed to admit
I am chasing a group of Koreans
I am chasing Koreans
Up and down hills
Over rivers, through puddles
Bent on getting there before they do
Getting there, to the next stop
The next bed, croissant, or baño
Before they show up
En masse, all 70 of them together
Together, en masse, they haunt me
These singing, smiling pilgrims
Their legs mostly shorter than mine
Their pace steady, determined
They are not determined to beat me
With their packs half their body size
With their sticks snapping like fire
I think they are just more practiced
What I am practiced at is useless here:
I am practiced at what ifs
What if they take all the beds at the hostel
What if I pee myself waiting in line
When I see them in line ahead of me
My heart speeds up, my legs too
And my stomach is gripped
In a tight knot of anxiety
But what is it I am anxious about?
Certainly not kind-spirited people
Who wave and shout hello as they pass
Who clap their hands when I reach the top of a hill
No, it is not the clapping Koreans
I am chasing out here on the Road to Santiago
It is my own, old nemeses
Demons named Distrust and Control
But demons have no place here
This is where I turn them over
To a power greater than myself
Who tells me getting there does not matter
To get there, I must chase here
Not 70 Koreans
I smote you demons distrust and control!! Be gone!
Yes! ... to capturing that niggling little urge to muscle it all....