SHE LOVES NASCAR
She loves NASCAR.
I prefer Gaugin or Renoir
but she loves NASCAR.
It's a southern fascination
as Dixie as Faulkner
or sweet potato pie.
I love NASCAR,
She squeals like tires burning,
out of breath.
The only thing that moves
like lightening in the south,
NASCAR.
Guys driving fast
making left hand turns.
I prefer the curves
in a Rodin,
the speed of a swallow’s flight.
She loves NASCAR.
Her eyes smoke
smiling like a checkered flag,
with spark plug laughter.
When the twisted wrecks
have been cleared.
the vroom of the engines still.
In bed,
In my arms she idles.
Her hair smelling of excitement
and exhaust.
I love NASCAR
Her engine revs
I whisper, we have
nothing in common.
Don't be silly
we both love Nascar.
She reaches for me
under the sheets.
GENTLEMEN START YOUR ENGINES!
She draws me inside,
A pitstop. I'm her one man pit crew
We both love NASCAR she sputters.
Yes but, not
for the same reason.
My key in her ignition.
My pistons pounding.
My gears shifting
My heart racing .
Yes, oh yes I love Nascar.
Nascar Crazy
__________________________
It's really quit a show
to watch my Husband and oldest son
as their yelling at the t.v
when the race is on.
Nascar seems to spark excitment
watching them go fast
and as much as I'd like to watch
my attention span doesn't last.
I have been to just one race,
they are very loud
it's really not my kinda thing
fighting through that crowd.
Although it wasn't really bad
and for me it was brand new
I think it will be just for them
not again ,something I will do.
5/23/14-Jessica Thompson
Dedicated to My Family
Sometimes she reminisce about suicidal accounts, As a result she didn't possess money in her account, Subconscious playing NASCAR because her Brain/Heart occasionally racing, Attempts regaining Love nonetheless she always end up chasing.
- Loverboi
Around and around the track they go
And who will win, well you just don't know.
When they crash or spin out
That's what it's all about.
Without it , it's a pretty lame show.
for Royal Trevinos sports limerick contest
The speedometer busted sixty, motor screaming r r r s,
Smoked his firestones weavin’ and passin’ cars!
He slammed third dumped the clutch and headed north,
At a hundred five, he hit the highway and found fourth…
The smell of burning rubber filled the cab,
He pressed pedal to the metal for all she had!
Turbo screamed, the engine roared!
G,s pressed him to the back seat board,
He couldn't go on,
His strength was gone!
His muscles stretched and ached,
How much more could he take!?
His only fan totally enthralled
Gears grinding,..engine stalled
He couldn't help it...his eyelids dropped like lead!
Dad hugged him out of his Big Wheels and said,
”Wild Man Willy, my son..it’s time for bed. “…
(This is a fictional poem)
I'm a Nascar driver and I'm one of the best.
I always win and the losers are depressed.
I always come in first on racing day.
The other racers eat dust as I blow them away.
Last week a driver cussed me out because he came in last.
He's jealous of my car because it's really fast.
I challenged him to a fight but he won.
He put bruises on all of my body parts, even on my balls and my buns.
He was hitting, kicking, clawing and even biting.
I'm excellent at racing cars but I suck ### at fighting.