The exercise:
Write something that takes place at: the racetrack.
Much more normal shift at the bakery this morning. Busy when I figured it would be, quieter at other points as expected. Totally manageable.
The dishwasher has finally been installed. Things weren't fully in place until after dinner this evening, due to more delays this afternoon. But it's currently running through its first cycle with dishes in it and I am quite excited about that.
Spending all day tomorrow picking strawberries, as Kat's parents will be picking cherries for us to bring to the market. I know Becky is going to try to help in the morning, and Adam is taking the afternoon off work to pick as well.
We'll still be lucky to get them all picked before dark, but I'm going to try to get out there as early as I can.
Mine:
Eyes of steel,
Hands on the wheel,
Waiting for the man
With the flag in his hand
To set him free.
Foot to the floor,
Hear the engine roar!
Life becomes a blur -
He forgets him, him, and her -
Now it's all about speed.
He steps on the gas
To make a pass,
But he's tried too soon -
There's not enough room!
He's headed for the wall...
It's too late,
He's sealed his fate.
His hopes are dashed
In one last crash,
And his wife gets The Call...
2 comments:
You make farming life sound so exciting... I'm not convinced that it really is this full of action and people dropping everything and pitching it to make things happen! Well done on getting the dishwasher sorted out though, that's got to be an achievement, and hopefully it will simplify life and create more time for other things to get done :)
Hmm, are there are any female racing drivers? I can't think of any in Formula-1 at least, but it's nice that your poem suggests that there should be. I like your choice of rhyme scheme, especially with the verses being paired by the fifth line in them; it brings a subtle continuity to the way the poem progresses. And progress it does... to a not-very-happy ending!
The racetrack
"Wotcha got there, Dave?"
"It's the form, Vince."
"Looks like a newspaper to me, Dave."
Dave folded the newspaper neatly into a long, thin, rectangle and swatted Vince's nose with it. Vince's head jerked backwards, still failing to avoid being struck, and smacked into the face of the man behind him. He, in turn, staggered backwards with his hand flying to his crushed nose, and blood spraying around him. The small group of people dispersed in a hurry, several of them shooting dirty looks at Dave.
"What did you do that for, Dave?" Vince looked wounded and rubbed the back of his head. "I think I hit my head on something."
There was an outraged noise behind Vince from the man with the mashed nose; this was the best he could manage through the pain, the blood, and the snot. Vince turned at the noise and saw the man. "Jesus mister, did he hit you too?" There was a note of genuine sympathy in Vince's voice. The bloodied man snorted, and started choking on the blood he'd inhaled. "Dave, you can't go around beating people up because they know what a newspaper looks like and you don't!"
Dave grabbed Vince's arm and dragged him away; the group that had dispersed was starting to return and cluck worriedly about the choking man.
"Over here, Vince, you nutter. You hit that guy with your head, I'm surprised you didn't notice."
"It wasn't my fault!"
"Fine, whatever Vince. Look, this newspaper that you so cleverly identified tells us – well me, at any rate – about the horses and how they're running. It's how I pick what to bet on."
"Oh right." Vince nodded sagely. "You placed a bet then?"
"I've placed eight," said Dave confidently. He grinned, revealing teeth so yellow they were turning brown. "It's a strategy, so that if any of the horses doesn't win I still make money on the whole thing."
"Nice," said Vince. He rubbed the back of his head again.
"You betting then, Vince?"
"Yup. I put all my money on a horse in the first race."
"You... idiot Vince! What are you going to do when you lose? I'm not lending you anything."
"The horse is called Vince too, Dave. Course I have to bet on him. It's like, patriotism, right?"
"You're an idiot, Vince."
Greg - farming can, indeed, be quite exciting. Not usually, but sometimes :)
There are a few female race drivers around. Danica Patrick comes to mind but I'm sure there have been others.
Oh man. I was going to say the Three Stooges like opening was my favorite part of this, but then I got to that patriotism line and couldn't stop laughing. These two are another great pair of characters that I'm always happy to see return to the blog :D
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