Waiting For The Gun Poem by Jett Wells

Two minutes. Waiting.
My heart is ready to burst.
The lanes are naked, clean,
ready to be torn up by cleats
and sweat.

Hundreds of eyes blinking and
staring.
Chatter swarmed into a calm
storm underneath this dome.

Waiting is the hardest part.
The anticipation, building.
Struggling to breathe as I
strategize.

Faster here.
Ease up here.
Go for the kill.
Take him.
A vision.

It’s almost time. Everything
is clenched. Find my control.
Don’t go out too fast, find your
stride. Tail the leader.
Wait for the moment.

Step up onto the lanes.
Red and white.
My teammates looking on.
The stakes digging into my
Stomach.

Step up to your blocks.
My heart beats faster.
I want to throw up.
This is it.

On your mark.
My ankles shiver.
Adrenaline at full throttle.
I can’t lose. I can’t lose. Go.