The Race

The crowds are wild,
cheering all their favourites,
in a deafening roar
that falls from the air like rain.

As it washes over me
I breathe it in.

But as I run my eyes
along the track
the noise dulls in my ears,
and the crowd fades away

Like a wispy cloud that 
melts into the wind.

My mind runs every step
every lift of the leg;
every throw of the arm;
every breath

Without ever leaving 
the start.

Then, at last, I coil into the blocks,
the tightened spring
of a runner making ready,
and await the gun.

And when it goes
I fly

With the wind in my face
hurdling toward the finish line,
where my greatest opponent
is myself,

and in a matter of mere seconds
the race is over.


august 2004
ŠJanet Reid