Sport 27: Spring 2001
Snapshot
Snapshot
The day orange. He gazed out over the area.
He surveyed the area. Angles, distances
he already knew. A slight breeze,
which he would leave to instinct.
The woman came up behind him and touched
his shoulder. He could could smell her excitement;
her excitement smelt like boiled clams.
He thought of his mother, her voice pinking down the thread
of her worsted life, his father, marching out of the room.
He knelt down. He could see the first glints of the motorcade
down the long, tree-lined avenue, coming toward him
like the future.