The Race


Benetton bravado
Schumacher slicks
a fantastical formula
for race day thrill.
It’s ’93 and I sport
my Benetton supporters
founder member tee
and Schumi gRACEs
my bedroom wall.
Physically conservative
I avoid risk taking/seeking,
but I lap up his
controversial competitiveness.
I lie on the sofa, there is
no physical threat to me.
And yet there is..

For every race I watch,
I have to outrace my memory.
I force my autobiography
off the track,
put up a roadblock
to my one visit to Silverstone.
Memory stalls after recall
of: F3 and Martin Brundle.
Remembrance of WHO took me
and the journey home
flagged and disqualified.

Twenty years on the road is clear,
the memory no obstacle: how my
mother’s stalker insisted on a pit stop,
the picnic blanket, the hamper,
the isolated countryside.
I now know why I can not
laugh at Nabokov’s Lolita.

For each Grand Prix,
I gambled emotional security,
but the risks were always
worth the podium for
Schumacher’s sensational
wins of seven!

Get well Schumi


2 thoughts on “The Race

    • It fascinates me how the most innocuous of things can stll have negative associations – the change in direction probably sounds like a hairpin bend, but it wasn’t so dramatic – just a few windy bends! 😊

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