A Pome a Day for a Year

Badump badump badump badump
a thousand elephants pounding on through
to their home in stark formation
could not stomp and thwump and drum
as loud as her heart.

Like disco beats and garage bass,
the pumping rhythm slaps and pulses
in time;
frantic, glorious eyes roving like lighthouses
perched on the shores of Brighton.

Clammers, coos, murmurs alight,
as hush lingers and breaths intake
the patient pregnant pause of fandom
on the precipice of wonder.

She strikes, head down,
body loose but controlled,
small wheels rumble beneath
like a California freight train:
the unstoppable juggernaut she has become.

The half pipe shines with a thousand cameras
as skateboard and champion sail,
towards blue stillness,
contained Icarus triumphing.