Ode to Sport Silver
(a less than epic poem)
Despondent I sit, in the 69 pit
On Wednesday, my first practice day
Missed PRS
My formation’s a mess
And I pass by some pylons wrong way
But there’s more that’s gone wrong, as I try to be strong
Not just practice where things go awry
Our qual speeds are token
Half the engine seems broken
And the pilot’s forgot how to fly
But not all is lost, getting course time is boss
And my flying does slowly improve
Number 1 in the line-up
More formation, less pile up
On the race course I fly in the groove
Big Sunday comes
With a tightness of buns
As I taxi to line up and wait
The formation’s ok
Despite bumps all the way
Line abreast down the chute looking great
Gentlemen have a race
Now I pick up the pace
Leaving Vince far behind with my boost
Try to stay in my lane
Keep my head in the plane
Check my engine is not coming loose
‘Round the course the dog runs
Cut no pylons; not one!
Handle dust devils, turbulence, heat
Last lap I’m home free
Checkered flag just for me
Go to cool down exhausted and beat
Dear reader don’t snit
At the clear lack of wit
Broken cadence and imagery foggy
That’s what you get
Only right to expect
Doggeral from the fat little doggy
