I Am Winning the Indianapolis 500 Here
Found the 1941 Super Deluxe way back in the most cob-web-filled barn,
It was during our “too-bad” Uncle Bill’s funeral, so frankly, what was the harm?
All those sob-masters were not paying attention to two nine-year-old cousins anyhow.
We had originally trotted off back here to look at Ding-a-Ling, Uncle Bill’s cow.
Our mourning mothers had cautioned to keep our good clothes thoroughly clean,
But we were investigative dare-devils, Jerry and me, quickly unseen.
Ding-a-Ling’s boring side happened quickly, actually, I must admit.
So we took a peek at Uncle Bill’s horse, Dumb Roy, not beautiful or slick.
Let’s go into that old cow-barn, Jerry said, ignoring the steed.
I had to admit, I was curious, and instantly intrigued.
We climbed over crates, we laughed at our stupid-ness, we slipped and we fell
A diabolically unclean rat trap, kind of a glorious hell.
We found the old Ford, and we were instantly race car drivers, racing in a heat.
We plunked a dried up old swallow’s nest, and a pound of bird poop off the seat.
We heard them calling for us, but we were all dusty, our Sunday outfits a mess.
We’ll have to tell them the truth, Jerry said ignorantly, we will have to confess.
Shut up! I was winning the Indy 500, the last lap, contenders on my tail.
Ignoring all caution, I leaned to the right, and was bit by a rusty old nail.
My cousin had to drag me half-limping, back to the funeral of our Uncle Bill.
Man of the hour, in heaven now, totally peeved, and to this day may be still.
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