Christmas poetry competition 2023

Icy spray hits me from the blade in front. Click click. The burning cold shocks me to the quick. Click click. The boat glides faster along the silent inky black river; we stabilise as we pick up pace. We’re the last out moving through the spectre-grey evening, Cutting through the water, the cold wind rushing past numbed faces. Click click. The boat slows down as the count hits one. The boat starts to pitch and yaw with fatigue – we nervously try to balance. Click click. The groan of the launch passes us. The coach shouts the last leg. We pressure ourselves to polish our technique. Click click. The Cox calls for another burst. Our lungs burn. The Cox shouts, ‘BUILD BUILD BUILD!’ We wince lungs of pain. Click click. The boat lurches forward, passing the frosted desert of Port Meadow. Click click. The shell rushes through the icy water. Click click click click! Getting faster I fixate on the boy in front. Click click! We glide to a halt, our breath tumbling forth, by the wooden landing stage.

Eight boys coughing and wheezing. We return the boat to its house.

By Frank Sekula