Standing, shouting
wind and salt spray
sun burning, blistering lips
dodging mud
dinting aluminium
on the roof of our old Landy

salt ‘n peppered with dust and dirt
bleeding sauce
entrailing abattoir scraps
perched perilously upon a popsicle stick

grunt, muscle, noise
engines revving, accelerating
braking, sideways, blipping
loud speakers, flags
and spectacular crashes

all in a day
of a boy and his hot-dog
at the speedway


Speedway is part of my collection of poetry that just aint good enough for competitions or publication in literary journals. However I would still like to share it with you.