Intoxicating fumes
From the 87-octane
Spilling from my Ski-Doo
Only heighten my senses
That had already peaked
Around that last corner
That throws me into
The final,
Deafening
Stretch that is checkered in black and white.

Before I even tear the tape
I lift my hand in victory
Ignoring the dusted snow
Blinding me
To the competition
That I didn’t even know was there.