Mediocre Race

I'm glad that when I
have just finished
a mediocre day at work
TV crews don't stick their
cameras and boom-mikes
in my face
and ask me how I feel about it.

Chad le Clos

This is the only way to take victory:

choking back tears

like they are the dreams

you have finally caught up with

trying to escape.

You have just beaten

Michael Phelps

The Best Swimmer

in recorded history.

You are the tiger who sobs

for the dove between his jaws.

You stand on the podium

higher than your hero

you can truly love him now

your arm touches him

now, and there is a new power

and a new smile

in the sopping globes

of your eyes.

We are humans

And we cannot help but rank.

We are humans

and we cannot help but worship.

He is the swimmer

and you

are a mournful fish

Who swims joyously in his wake.

Federa v. Del Potro

Two morose giants

battle it out.

Potro has slightly nervous eyes

And a small serious mouth.

He plays like a cannon.

Federa looks like some merchandise of himself

but he plays like a genetically engineered

storm.

They fight calmly,

toing and froing

in an arduous geological process

that somehow retains equilibrium.

I must go out. I’ll just wait for two more games, and

then I’ll go.

An hour later, and the bank is going to close.

I leave.

I can remember,

I’ll say to my grand kids,

When this match began.

Nicola Adams

She is fighting for me

For everything that has happened to me

for all the shitty days I’ve had.

She even threw a few for the mediocre days too.

That Cancan bitch represents

a whole army of shit that has surrounded me

all those swampy tiring feelings

all those terrible bureaucracies

the bullies

the rejections

the snubs.

And Nicola Adams

is a hero, made of light

she appears

in a moment

and darts into the ring

and pulverises

everything bad.

Cancan?

Cancan’t more like.

Bye bye Red.

Join a river of blood

Nicola is here.

In tremendous flurries

smash her

smash her

Nicola

release me.

Shin A-lam

                 

You were robbed by a technocrat.

“The Korean Team cannot accept this situation.”

But they can accept it far more than you can, for

in the end didn’t they strictly respect Olympic procedure

with their official complaints and their appeals?

You abandoned all decorum

and all precedent

as you sat there

for 40 minutes.

Sitting, crying

and refusing to move

is the primordial protest.

Children do it, lovers do it.

Those responsible are lost. They

stand there, holding a tea-towel

trying to talk the protest round

but finding only more protest.

You see, frustration reaches a point

where it simply cannot abide a moment longer

and in an exothermic reaction

must decompose

into anger

or sorrow.

For you it was sorrow,

gentle sorrow.

You sat on the edge of the stage

and cried.

Serena Williams

She is so fierce

So solemn

So dignified

That she would make The Predator

feel like the spoilt, silly little boy he is.

When she plays

it is like she is playing because

someone has kidnapped her parents.

She may respect her opponent

but she must crush her.

Serena Williams

is a real lady, a real person

a real competitor, a serious

presence in the court.

She is gravity itself, her face

is an arrow headed for the

heart of victory, her belly

is decision, her limbs are light

and heavy at once, like dark clouds.

Her eyelashes are blades

and her eyes are dying stars

with just enough light left

to conquer her ancient nemesis

in his million forms,

then dance.

Noble lady of the court, tell me this:

what kind of villain would I have to be

for you to take up a blade

pursue me to the brink of my evil

then nod, just once, and acknowledge me

before you run me through?

Serena

kill me.

Michael Phelps

Giant man

Lovely face

Lets send him

Into space.