Model Yachtsmen

At the edge of the lake they stand,
Remote controllers in their hand,
Staring in rapt concentration,
Each to his yacht – full attention.
Through their thumbs the wind strength sensing,
Alert to subtle changes, tensing,
Tweaking tillers, adjusting course,
Trimming sails and feeling the force.

Chatty, friendly before the race
But when the hooter sounds, each face
Sets firm and all become silent,
Single-minded with grim intent,
Making effort to set the pace,
Round each buoy to complete the race,
Until the line is passed and then
They all become good friends again.