A day of sport, of sorts, sat watching that
Best festival of testing from Beijing
Each vest the fastest, highest, strongest, sat
Watching that, though I ought to be writing.
The thought of writing’s biting and tugging
At me; we’re wrestling boxers, arms entwined
The red and blue vests, hot and cold, winning
And losing; to win gold, I’ve got to find
Some extra strength to last the length, unwind
The knot of memories till they lie flat
Like eight lanes under floodlights, me running
Between, relating, relaying; refined
Technique showing on replay, re-read, sat
Reading the dream book that I’m not writing
Sat 23 Aug 2008
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