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I can remember you at sports day
powering down the lane
track-focused.
Stubborn sweat on determined jaw
and the leap of you
full-length
hitting the floor breaking the tape
with fingertip
precision;
winded but triumphant
the clutch of your hands
holding the trophy like a
flag
that said, "I am here!"
Face brighter than the glare
of reflected
sun on cheap brass.
Then us, running home
with the wind at our
backs,
whooping with joy;
legs stretching, pumping
calculating the
uneven sidings
of the disused railway track.
Passing startled
rabbits
and the envious eyes of magpies
to the field and its
gates
that were always our parting
