The Inkwell
A poem by Brian F Kirkham
14/06/2017
Perhaps it was fate intervening
Under the lights of the one – on – one run off
New champion releases a breath – as old one curses release from a tyre
Cut by something sharp on the road
Taking the title away from him
Until then, the pressure to succeed was all on him
Reflections of what could have been – expected
Even now. he’s giving a cursing glare down the tarmac road
In honour of Dame Sarah Storey – who’s just become the UKs most decorated Paralympian.
Surpassing all others on two wheels
Paralympic gold tally record – broken
Rio watches and applauds your achievement
In getting the record number of golds
New dame holding the record – that’s gone from the swimming stadium
To the Track of a different kind – the velodrome
A Marvel of Invention –
the people look on proud.
A noble gent is making
his way through the crowd.
He’s sat on a seat – made of wood and of brass
awaiting peelers whistle – which lets him go past
Seeing his neighbours going on by
and passing pigeons off tiled roofs they fly.
Just then, rider moves and his bike starts to wobble,
so he looks briefly round for a stray or loose cobble.
But our hero must take care – or else he will fall
So he rides with his head high, body straight and tall.
