Before the Gun

By Sonya Bengali

Faces stared down at me
like an angry teacher on
a misbehaved student.

Heat after heat zoomed
from the start like racehorses.
Big, talented, intimidating;
purebreds made to run.
A mix breed is no contender,
who balks at the start gate.

All is hushed except
the sound of heavy breathing;
determined faces of others
who have only one goal.

Their eyes narrow as they
focus long and hard at the finish.
The started speaks his final words,
and all goes quiet.

My violent thundering heart
pounds at a quick pace,
making the seconds seem forever,
in anticipation to the startling boom.