To celebrate the day we surpassed the Chinese in the Olympics medal table (accepting it can’t last but still…) and to acknowledge the joy I experienced working for the Olympics in 2012 in London (the pictures are from then), here is a sonnet I wrote
Improbable arcs, they shape with simple grace,
Higher by far than Herculean gods.
They dive, like salmon, in an old millrace,
Fake scaled, in black, mocking friction and the odds.
Four lycra saddlemen of apocalypse,
Impossibly close till they swoop up high,
While a peacock prepares his triptych blitz,
Both men and gravity does he defy.
Water, earth and air limit simple men,
But those honed gods are made of sterner stuff.
After four toiling years, they reach a point when
Their efforts lift the fog, they’ve done enough
To know what has been their goal all along:
To leap higher, go faster, and be strong.