Track & Field*

I’m feeling slightly overwrought
By serial footage of competitive sport…
As if the football season
Was not sufficient reason
For sitting on the sofa, glued to the screen
Wondering what might happen
And then, what might’ve been;
Not really understanding the draw,
Much less, the business of keeping score
Until I caught crossed paths with World Athletics
(And yes, I do feel quite pathetic,
Exercise-by-proxy doing nowt for my health
A fact compounded by sloth-by-stealth,
The creeping growth of capacity
To sit/lie/snooze for Queen and Country,
Wearier than I feel is fair:
All I can muster is Sit and Stare,
Marvelling from a place of repose
At just how fast each athlete goes,
Just how high, how long, how far…
Finding the whole thing rather bizarre,
Wondering how the desire takes root
To don Lycra shorts, a vest and track suit,
And take to pursuits of physical endurance,
Practising deconstructed elements
Of serial motions with clear goals in mind,
Hoping that skills are sufficiently refined
To beat contenders into clear submission
-That’s the point of competition…
Not that I’ve the remotest sense
Of the discipline needed to go the distance:
My commitment, one of observation,
Televisual witness to such sporting sensation,
Wondering at these superhuman feats
Without lifting a finger
Or leaving my seat…


*World Championship Athletics 2017


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