STOCK CAR HEAVEN ...
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aka The Hot Rod Poet ... |
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Where 30's and 40's Ford Coupes Still spin around the track and old Ford Flat Head Engines with Stromberg carbs can still be heard gulping air as the pedal is driven toward the floor And old Dodge and Plymouth coupes follow close behind as old Chevy Sedans chase their tails with old stove bolt six engines with lifters pounding like the rhythm section of a Rock and Roll band and a 42 Buick coupe with a straight eight engine and duel down draft carbs comes flying up the side it's an all out race wiith 28 drivers ... forever 20 something young lost in Korea or maybe Vietnam or that Big War before who stopped pulling in for pit stops somewhere between teenage and middle age years. |
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whose eyes will forever shine And every driver is a winner and every driver is a hero and there's 28 Brothers and 28 Sisters on every pit crew keeping track of 28 reving engines and every evening is a Saturday Summer Night and in every race ... every driver comes in a winner and is handed the checkered flag, and gets to take their Victory lap around the track. And it's up in the grand stands Grandpa waves a Crafts-man's wrench and tells the world, "I helped fine tune that ride." And Grandma proudly cheers and waves "That's my Grand Child!" And the driver's eternal partner leaps up and down and calls, "Win ... Win ... I know you can Win!" and the engines never silence and the race never stops and the drivers eyes forever shine and if you look real close at polished chrome, you will catch the reflection of the waving motions of the grandstand's crowds as the light rays bounce off toward heaven and if you listen real close you will hear the echoes of the cheering crowds and the roar of the reving engines |
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please read and enjoy roadpoet.com |
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