Camargue Poem by Jack Sedman

running on
rubber pounding grit
past groups of chevaux, so
hot in the late heat. Our bikes
struggling, grinding, halt. Miles
of baked, broken earth; dust and sand.

We were off and on off and on off and
brought to the
brink silent
but strong we
kept on through dead air
steeped with the stink of paint-
flicked flamingoes, pinky-yellow like
the light sinking behind. The dark catching up
onto roads flat, flanked with dykes
and bitten in the night
we slapped and scratched
and pumped and strained
trying but foundering
in the tired waves
tired heat
blowing over
in vain
our way only on
with a final drink
before sun’s last kiss
running on