My spatula skates off the fryer like an Olympic
Dream come true, and my thumb dives headfirst
Into three hundred twenty-five degrees of regulation-sized
Swimming oil. The judges, impressed with my form,
Take a moment to confer over how much to dock my pay.

The torch is blown out on schedule tonight.
We hang up our running shoes by the register, and take to the
streets of the common man. Sometimes we’re recognized by
careful eyes, but we’d all prefer anonymity.
Some things you do for fame, but the important things
you do for Mom and Dad.

It’s training season again, and the new athletes take their
marks smiling. Another veteran casts me a knowing glance,
as if to say “They’ll learn one day.” I nod back in agreement.