The simple transition from ski-jump champion to rockstar

Finalist / Published ‘Aethetica Magazine Creative Writing Prize, 2015′

I can no longer stand
without making a sound,
I have recently noticed,
neither am I at ease
when staring down
the 90-metre ramp
or flying legs spread
with my skis tucked up
or landing at the end of the
horseshoe arena like
Iron Man on ice
to rapturous cow-belling
and national worship.

The time has come
for me to give it all
up, box the medals,
drop the altitude training,
the steak and egg starters,
the quadricep extensions
in the gym, the notion that
I’ve still got the bottle,

the time has come
to make the call
my agent has waited
twenty years for,
the one in which I tell him
that all this time whenever
I hovered, I composed
pop songs of an heroic nature,
whose beats hung with me in the air, and
as I floated down I saw my fans dancing rapturously,

the one in which I tell him that the time has come for a slot
on the radio, several on TV, a spot in a photo magazine, for which
I will bleach my hair and boast of sex in the sauna, six times in an hour,
because I have lost my head for heights and am in search of new grooves to cut.