Red-runners

The light shines into my cupboard when I grab my runners with my excited hands.
The moment I slip my runners on I have transformed into someone that can handle anyone or anything.
My court-runners are ready for the shiny court and the tan ball that teases me as it bouncers through people's hands.
When I arrive at the stadium the adrenalin rush runs through me like a bolt of lightning from head to toe.
5, 4, 3, 2 and 1 the clock starts my personal-car screeches to the court as I grab the ball.
Run, run, run people shout from the side of the court.
I feel like a cheetah with my red-partners on my feet.
The ring is utterly amazed by my crowd-pleasers with it's mouth gaping open as if it's seen a ghost.
I run at full speed across the court with a smile from ear to ear across my face.
On the deep black swirling storm of forgiveness and the read velvet laces upon the tongue of the shoe.
That's why it is clear that there is a magical land beneath the shiny red tick on the side of my hoop-jumpers.