A tribute to dirt track racing, written for my husband!

The air is heavy with anticipation
And the smell of grease and oil,
As the crowd waits anxiously
For the battle to begin.
The preliminary ceremonies
Are nearly missed in the
Cacophony of voices raised
In support of each fan’s
Favorite warrior.
The watchers proudly wear
The colorful insignia
Proving their loyalty,
Daring others to speak ill
Of their particular hero.
Divisions are forgotten briefly
As voices unite in the anthem
Reverberating through the arena.
Silence follows as all eyes
Focus on the flagman
With the Caesar-like power contained
In his choice of colored standard.
He finally waves the emerald
And the thunderous roar
Of engines begins.
The onlookers arise as one from their seats
To cheer the drivers onward
Round and round and round.
Dirt and mud fly through the air
Sprinkling those closest to the course
Where the battle filth is worn
As a badge of honor.
A misjudged turn and the din
Of the crowd briefly overpowers
The sound of the racing engines,
Excitement soars as the first
Driver is eliminated from the contest.
Other drivers begin to fall to the side
As they prove their inability to compete;
The resulting herd members still battling
To be the leader of the pack.
One final turn and again the crowd
Rises, screaming, waving,
As the winning car rolls under
The fluttering checkered flag.
Pats on the back, handshakes
Praise for the conqueror.
A pretty girl with a golden trophy
For the fair-haired boy.
Just another Saturday night at the dirt track.