Race Car
The driver is one with the machine.
Every turn on asphalt would be tires burning.
A V8 with horse power, the car flies down the road.
Turn up the music and push the pedal to the floor.
Need for speed while the tires grip every turn.
What a rush to fly by while the oil burns.
This is the life of a man in a locomotive.
With torque the gears turn crank down shift.
Racing down the speedway on a straight away.
Man and machine compete to win the race.
Just one more lap through the trees down the road.
The checkered flag is just a mile to go.
Drifting around the corner.
Why do race car drivers drink milk when it’s over?
Under the sun the engine is on fire.
Pass by all the slow pokes with power.
Just like a spark plug the lightning keeps striking.
Like a racehorse, it charges to keep on fighting.
Driving fast is like having the feeling of being free.
Just you and your car, this is the way it has to be.
When I saw Dilly dally
I thought, "Oh no, this kid's got to rally!
Cuz if he loses this race,
it'll be a total disgrace,
cuz this race was right up his alley.
excited daring chickadee living by the China Sea
got permission to drive in the Grand Prix
first chick to be invited in history
grandma got excited and slapped her knee.
wait a second said Uncle Lee. Is there a fee?
yes but I have earned money from my geometry.
and my books on the craziness of biology.
my UK royalties are as great as they can be.
grandma hoisted a yellow banner in her old elm tree.
said “My grandson Mike will be driving in the Grand Prix.”
friends flew over from all directions to take a selfie.
causing the whole family to go on a social media spree.
The race car driver drove to fast
He crashed hard but didn't last
His funeral was sad
It made others mad
When his car showed up wearing a mask
I take off with a lurch, my headlights blazing.
If I don’t win, well….I can’t lose.
I do not even look to my right or my left.
If someone is catching up, it makes me mad.
I catch up with other cars, and pass them.
I pass everything on the road.
I see something ahead, and it is a challenge.
No matter how far away, I have to get up there and be first.
This may kill me, but it is worth it.
I am the ultimate race car, and cannot lose.
And cannot even be passed.
I rev my engines.
I wanted to be a ballerina with a dump truck.
A pink tutu with frothy petticoats and a red and white dump truck.
If I could not have that,
I wanted to be a newspaper reporter with a loud typewriter
And a red laddered fire truck.
Clanging and banging as I drove to murder scenes.
If I could not have that,
I wanted to be a millionaire with an orphanage and
a home for dogs.
We would have a swimming pool and a movie theater.
If I could not have that,
I wanted to be a race car driver with my own pit crew.
My race car would be magnificent, sponsored by Kellogg.
This dream was my most persistent.
I still drive laps in my sleep, satisfying my inner child
Who refuses to give up this dream.
The term driver of victory
came to me unbidden, unexplored
I tossed it around in my dendrite chambers
My muse caught it and ran with it
She is amusing, but she has great ideas too
She decided Victory was a race car,
We daringly painted her in our favorite colors.
Hot pink, canary yellow, and outrageous orange.
Victory was beautiful, gloriously bright.
She showed up all of the other race cars
They were dull in their silly primary colors
With wraps from well-known sponsors
We stood beside Victory in our silky race car jackets
painted in hot pink, canary yellow and outrageous orange.
The other cars cried, they were so intimidated.
Let the race begin!
Written 6-04-2019
Contest: Driver of Victory Verse
Sponsor: Julia Ward
I wished I was a race car driver,
but it took money, and I never had enough.
And women did not do it back in the day,
and now I get so many jollies racing other
idiots on the freeway, I have my racing “fix”
both to work and from work,
so it is not my current wish.
I wished I was a secretary, until I became
on at a company where the other one had walked
off mad, and seven men stood behind me waving
hundreds of pages, yelling that they wanted me to
type their proposals first. I lost forty-pounds in two
weeks, and never got to go to the bathroom,
finally quitting after a little nervous breakdown.
The great news, is that my roommate was
their former secretary, and we had lots
of laughs at their expense while we recovered.
I wished I was a ballerina
But I never took dance lessons
Then I tore my ACL and my Meniscus
so now I barely walk
plus I have arthritis in my feet
and who wants to pay to see a
hundred and eighty-nine pound
sixty-seven-year-old with an apple
stomach in a tutu? Maybe my grandchildren
and the kids at school, and my arch enemy, Sheila.
A two car garage of cement blocks.
The tools we needed on the rack.
Winter was cold, summer was hot.
In our little garage in the back.
Many race cars built.
Everyone winners at the track.
All designed, built and fixed.
In our little garage in the back.
Go-karts, minibikes, and coasters.
Music supplied by an 8-track.
A replica of Coweta Raceway.
Next to our little garage in the back.
Learned to build what we wanted.
Must be done right, cut no slack.
Fast but safe, before it could leave,
our little garage in the back.
Lives shaped in the home they say.
But I believe it to be fact.
Boys become men while building,
in a little garage in the back.
The workers just doing their job.
Came down with a sudden loud crack.
They tore it down and hauled away,
our little garage in the back.
An older man now, thinking of my past.
All the cars built and painted black.
I finally have to call my very own.
A little garage in the back.
R. S. Morris
I'm going to eat a race car sandwich.
It will run down my gullet, hard and fast.
It will clean out my tummy, and drive past my gas.
It will clean me out, right?
I will eat a race car sandwich at the next red light.
Really cool engine with velocity voluptuousity
Antique like me, bronze teeth, with grill reflections
Car goes round and round doing eternal lefts
Egos and racers can't go right I guess
Call it strange when you drink and drive in circles
An old jalopy goes too slow when cops approach
Remember not to speak out loud when spinning out
Bars you visit frequently should serve booze for two
Earl is what you named your car and it gets thirsty too
Hide Beers from police when moving fast in traffic
If stopped, blame Earl for speeding
No other excuse will do
Don't look confused in headlights either
Bad things happen when you defile your old car
And turn it in to the local police for drinking
Racing in public is against the law and so is peeing
Shift to low gear before you take your car to jail
Created this Acrostic poem on 6/13/16 for “Rusted And Busted” Poetry Contest sponsored by: Casarah Nance
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