The man is fixated. Goals in his mind.
Relentless pursuit of almost perfect.
His fingers count the numbers. They soothe him.
The finishing tape breaks against his chest.
He has to keep going. Never ending.
Sights set on another maybe pursued.
Stumbling over obstacles, never stops.
Path tread underfoot, eyes ever forward.
Faster and higher, nothing distracts him.
He calculates and configures what’s next.
Who wouldn’t want a man so successful?
He must be desired. Prize of the world.
So tangible, yet it hurts to fall down.
Picks himself back up. A formula wrong?
Calculator man can’t find the buttons.
All the combinations, which one is right?
Should it be brains, power, size, speed, or strength?
He improves, but hesitates a moment.
Maybe there are people he needs to ask.
Empty conversations. No points are scored.
Bigger and better. His head doesn’t swell.
Surrounded by nothing but trophies won.
A mountain of a man. Challenge the sun.
Ask him who he comes home to, who greets him.
He hears “baby” or “honey” and winces.