No one cares the way she does.
Plastic bag filled with snacks,
his calculator, money for new
socks.  Run is over and he’s
on the ground one long 
leg crossed over the other
examining a raw blister.
He’s limp with defeat.
All his fault
for not bandaging it
better, all his fault
his poor performance.
She says blisters are temporary.
It will be better tomorrow.

He rolls his eyes,
looks back at the blistered heel.