Up ahead, I see him now.
Less than twenty separate us,
Twenty elite. To catch
Him will take everything.

His the first stage, his the second.
I got the fourth the Spaniard the fifth.
The rest went by unceremoniously,
But today, stage 15, is my stage to take.

Closing the gap, eight
Heads to pick off. What’s in the distance?
The finish line lost in a sea of heads?
Time to dig deep. Time to harden up.

My legs working like pistons
Propel me forward at thirty five miles an
Hour. He hears me straining
Ups his cadence too.

It’s me and him, green versus
The finishing line a hundred meters
Away. I glance at him our
Eyes meet. I push hard as I can.
He pulls away. The yellow jersey.


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