Giro Madness

Week One Poem Recap

Dane Hamann

Cranking the big winch of their bikes,
the time trialists haul themselves
along the blue Adriatic. The gap
to the winner is a wide net, already
ensnaring competitors. A statement

Of speed, no argument can be made 
in the golden afternoon light. Then,
a crash among the beach-side hotels 
throws long shadows into the mix
of the surviving sprinters. So wild

In the wet, Italy continues to feed
the riders to its snaking streets,
forcing fires to fizzle and road spray
into faces. Mud-speckled riders churn 
up toward the finish. Taking deep gasps

Of petrichor in the mossy limestone
mountains, the breakaway circles
the plateau to find a new home
for the pink jersey as the race favorite
climbs alone among rivals. Slipping down

On the glassy streets, the rainbow jersey
arcs into muddy gravel. Chaos hounds
the jacketed bunch. Gathered like droplets
on a camera lens, one swipe sends them 
trickling into gutters. On their way to the sea,

The sun finally erupts and flows over 
the riders as they swing along coastal cliffs
and cut through multihued canyons
of stucco, stone, and iron. The bright light
of pain sears the hard chase. Not enough

Steely-eyed impetus from the riders
as the race climbs the spine of Italy.
A trio flutters between walls of snow,
neon butterflies lost in the wind of open
meadowland. Giving everything to reach

For that debut grand tour win, a solo attack
bolts from the break. The rain has turned
Italy greener than usual, the stage
dotted by mountains like emerald islands.
The search for victory is a lonely matter,

Each rider must wait for their time, staring 
at mirrors of sky flooding the road, the hooks
of wet corners baited with seconds. The riders
know the race for pink may catch them out
someway or another. Luck lasts only so long.