Ode To the Great Wooden Slot Car Derby Race
Earth's golden orb rises o're the new eastern sky,
Where red sandhills and goslings blithely fly.
The secret mist of the morning bids its final adieu,
As a young day spontaneously, begins anew.
A spectacular derby in technicolor array,
Creation of marvels beyond all mortal purvey.
Strategies and concepts each totally unique,
Imaginative images, unusual techniques.
Like a Donatello or more modern Rodin,
Or a charming sunset, on the banks of the Thames.
Like waves sculpting sands to incredible shapes,
Masters of design, multi-faceted scapes.
Drafting to paper near perfect forms,
Like Katrina's eye, the heart of the storm.
Thoughts and drawings consigned to wood,
Gravity of assignments, way more than hath stood.
Each masterpiece weighted and given their due,
Fully loaded, then firmly sealed with sealant hot glue.
Scientifically apportioned, positioned in place,
Scaled aerodynamically, all else displaced.
Like the tide's surge that fills the narrowing fjord,
Each storm its waters, the work of our Lord.
Like the great Cumulus arching up to the sky,
Fiery chariots cinema-graphing, in our mind's eye.
Next to the last step they sand, then they buff;
Visages changing to finished from rough.
Transformed master sculptures, all parts in their place,
Ready at last, for the great derby race.
A final veneer, their colors of choice,
Sparkling, gleaming finishes for these magnificent toys.
Anticipation escalating fore' the event begins,
Rooting for our favorites, family or friends.
aabb May 2, 2015
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