The Trial


They said my proud colours were to be pink
And the shorts were black I wore spikes that day
I ran and ran with the baton pressed firm
I put a spike into Tony Barber's bare foot
He ran like an arrow shot from a bow
Spilling red blood along the grassy track
He said, "You spiked me, you stupid bastard."
I said, "Sorry mate, you took off too late.
Why in hell weren't you wearing some track shoes?"
We came second after the guys in red

I ran fast that relay I can't recall
how or why and I lost the sensation
I was not to be an athlete. So sad
That it didn't work out and I never
had that wanting again to run out of fear
Only in my dreams did demons chase me
In the slow motion world of leaden feet
Where a dirty mind had a pimpled face
I told pitiless jokes and made them laugh
About my future identity crisis

I failed I hurt my good friend I felt bad
Perforce I was not made as an athlete
My heart was weak maybe it was smaller
My legs were too short from living on floors
I was trained to fight communists not run
Nor jump long nor high nor fly with a pole
Past bars resting on stilts just for the day
With a smug look beneath some blondy hair
A whole another kind of humanity,
Had just the right size thighs to pass the trial

Not me

Roma, 28 10 2007