I pity those gold medalists who now
must find another path to amble down
with no track lines or baying crowds to show
the fortuitous corners they must turn
after the big sponsors have rode the buzz
of their triumph until the spark is gone—
before the speech circuit, reality shows
and openings of musty village fetes.
I empathise a little for I know
that all these quirky Cantos that I write
will soon be relics in the cyber cloud
when I down tools in almost a fortnight
to find some other ways to be ignored.