Theme Park at its Darkest

The tyres shrieking their demand for traction

Where the road crests the brow of the mountain

Afternoon is a golden smelter in

The crucible of the speedometer

The ceramic squeal of heated rotors

As brakes negotiate with the motor

Stark black warnings screaming from yellow signs

Driven by rhythm of white centre line

A hare, erect and startled, stands roadside

Headlights fulminate in its amber eyes

One figure riveted as sentinel

To the flipside of the other’s vigil

Iron grey dusk rears up, pure reverie

As the turbo howls like a Valkyrie

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…Because every bloke should write a poem about his car.

This entry was posted on December 4, 2020 at 7:31 am and is filed under poetry, sonnet with tags Falcon, Ford, XR6 Turbo. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.