Runner's club

Vacant tables await,
The troop of runners
Every Wednesday at 6:30pm,
They pile into the brewery,
One leg after the other,
Rain or shine,
With their banana shaped shoes
And sun-kissed demeanors

I watch them awkwardly wait,
For the runner King,
A spring-loaded piston
A chance to be herded,
Away into the evening,
With promise of nectar,
For those who finish.

"Alright everybody",
They swarm like bees,
Leaving behind a mess of belongings,
And empty seats,
They scatter roadward.

Their faces chiseled,
Eyes on the king,
They disappear into the night