Poem 138 – The Sprint

A clicking cadence
Of whirring wheels
Flung bidons bounce
Preparing for pace
At last the lead outs
Peel to reveal
The gurning grimace
As riders rush
One final fling
Across the line
Hands held high
In taking the triumph
To banging barriers
And cheering claps
…Or heavy, hang,
In final defeat

This year’s Tour de France was one of the most exciting I’ve watched, gripping from end to end. Watching it has been an annual ritual for most of my life, and as this season’s joins the memories of others, here’s a verse written in celebration of the sprint (although my favourite sprinter, was sadly absent this year).

© Ben Quant 2022
Photo by Pixabay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/high-angle-view-of-people-on-bicycle-248547/

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