Polyester prances about me
as I splash my suit with sweat.
Its rustles keep time with my gasps:
a wordless throng of supporters.
The cooler, left, too close.
Its gaggle of slackers sling spiteful sights at my numbers,
stretch pointless tongues whilst I up my resistance,
form empty alliances whilst I pull in profit.
Cramp stretches at the calf
so I plough teeth into lips,
clambers cancerously to my thigh
so I clench at clammy handles.
The bounce becomes a heave,
the music stabs and dizzies
so I blind myself with figures.
poem by Declan Cooney
illustration by Hannah Peck