Hot Rod

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This was a piece that I wrote for a school assignment. It includes descriptive language and a central event.

Submitted: November 01, 2012

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Submitted: November 01, 2012



I touch cold metal;

Candy apple red paint,

Strikes from a skilled hand.

I touch hot exhaust;

Stacks for fuel injection,

Hidden go-fast goodies beneath.

I touch wide rubber;

Still warm from racing.

Hoosiers and CalTracs keep it straight.

I hear engines roar;

Gate to quarter mile,

Running full throttle or nothing.

I hear crowds scream;

Two cars line up,

Staging burnouts for better traction.

I hear my heart;

Pounding beneath the pressure,

Green light go, hit first hard,

Second and third come too fast, miss my shift,

My world, lost, as I blow-up my Hot Rod.

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