Down a dusty sidewalk I dredge,
Darkness sours my off hour trek,
As low-beams gleam behind my back,
Growing shadows from tree and hedge.

Then so too sprouts my twilight twin,
Who shoots ahead at a furied pace,
His will is strong, he'll run the race,
Must I deny this 'me' the win?

For minutes--hours--we trade the lead,
As the cars pass he falls away,
Only to show it's all in play, 
As I tire he calls up fire, freed.

Thus, secure in his victory,
He slows to gloat, this other me.