by Kevin Densley
The day I broke Billy,
the stadium (well, athletics track)
was cool, windless.
The 800 meters final.
Young William was my rival.
Nerves, muscles and tendons attenuated,
we gathered at the starting line.
The gun cracked
— I led, felt good.
The tartan flew beneath my feet.
Bill tracked my every step. I could
feel his determination.
His father had perched himself on the fence
at the end of lap one,
where Bill had planned
to make a drawn-out finishing kick.
(I knew his tactics of old.)
A bloke in a long grey coat rang the bell.
Bill’s dad let out a rousing yell,
“C’mon, Billy!”
I still felt strong, upped the pace,
while Bill let out a guttural cry
“I c-c-c-can?t!”
in response to his father’s call.
That was all I needed.
I sped, unchallenged, to the finish line,
then turned and watched those in my wake.
Bill lolloped like a busted tire
into second place,
on that special day in the Under Elevens
when I shattered him like a meringue.
Kevin Densley is an Australian writer. His poetry has appeared in Australian, English and American journals. Densley’s latest poetry collection, his third, Orpheus in the Undershirt, was published by Ginninderra Press (Port Adelaide, South Australia) in early 2018. On Twitter @DensleyKevin.
