Steve Prefontaine

Flip flop flap,
shoes brand new now crumble
under my flying feet,
but I take no notice,
so mentally into the race
that I’m physically not affected by reality.

Fast, faster, and fastest
spinning in 400 meter circles
I can only see gold;
it hangs in front of me like the rabbit to a greyhound
they say I’m delusional,
Munich will only give me Bronze,
but never underestimate—
I will die for this dream.

Twirling blindly, images mingled
into one blinding wisp,
yet, voices remain in unison:
Pre! Pre! Pre!

Last lap and I’m leading,
strength surpasses endurance,
but some dreams fall
fall
fall
fall
until they dissipate into the wind
and now I must live with Fourth forever.

Some get a second chance
I never did—
a life taken too soon,
but there will always be the legend
of the man who ran
“as if every race was his last.”