Dedicated to Lena Hollmann – Masters Runner
The sun is hot
I am thin
No mental hot shot
I know where I’ve been
Did I drink too much water or not enough
I shake my limbs to get loose
The sun is getting rough
Gone are the days of the shovel and hole
Did I feel God’s pleasure?
Grinding toes to wedge my soul
I lift up my knees
The gun goes off
The race is on
Leaning arms pumping
Now standing
The starters block is long gone
Am I on the inside or out
I am the leaders contender
As the passing crowds shout
I am my meters gender
Waiting for the moment to kick
The stadium is a blur
All I see is where I run
All breathing is a stir
I see crowds with flags
I see a man with a T-shirt
No water stops on this track
No banana bagels dessert
Tough as a marathon
The kick faster we go
Then comes the leaning chests
Pop goes the ribbon to bestow
THE POETRY OF THE GAME