He chases speed and destiny
Down the dirt track straightaways
Every Saturday night
Where dusty tire smoke
Mixes with exhaust fumes.
He follows the tire tracks of the greats
Onto racing’s hallowed ground:
Indianapolis.
Talladega.
Daytona.
I understand his drive,
My pen accelerating full throttle
Through the turns of my own life,
My words laid down on a track
Much less permanent than asphalt
In a race against my own finite time.
The racer writes his own story,
Risking everything in his drive
To victory and legend.
The writer races to her finish line,
Risking everything as well,
A victory without the thunderous applause,
But victory nevertheless.
8 comments:
Mary, you have that right. There is the drive to write as much as we possibly can while we still can. Like an auto racer, we really don't know how much longer we have.
I really enjoyed this analogy ... and poem. It was clever, good and truthful.
I love the metaphor here. We keep racing against time to establish our greatness. But the battle is always half-won.
Thank god for these online communities.otherwise or victories would be hazed in silence and anonymity.well written indeed.
I would never have thought to compare my writing with race-car driving. Clever and unique allusion.
I enjoyed reading this.
this reminded me of my step dad who passed recently. he loved racing and nascar. thank you for the memory.
http://magicinthebackyard.wordpress.com/2012/01/07/a-blog-post-resurrection-party/
I am always racing to write..but this is what drives us to finish something doesn't it...nice use of analogy of the race driver ~
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