
In the distance, a voice through megaphone,
alerts swimmers to take your marks.
There is no ensuing gunshot,
just a long uneasy spate of moments.
Tension at the blocks,
toes maintain their grip.
Hairless bodies, poised aerodynamic,
coiled, ready, to spring-explode.
Yearn to return
to the element.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
