Dirt Tracking in the South

There is only one kind of racing.

There is nothing else to compare.
Dirt, the real drivers track.
Pavement is just for getting there.

The track itself is imposing.
Sells hamburgers, hot dogs and beer.
It is known as the bullring.
You need big boy pants to play here.

An all American tradition.
Kneelers welcome to depart.
We stand for the anthem,
hats proudly over our heart.

The American flag stands tall
Some show the rebel flag too.
Proud to display our heritage
Proud to show red, white and blue.

The cars, too powerful to believe.
How can anyone race these on dirt?
Much less race others among you.
The only goal is to be first.

Cars qualifying one by one.
Crowd standing in the bleacher.
You realize these drivers are special.
Just wait till you see the feature.

Fifteen cars on the parade lap.
Green flag in hand beckons.
Every person is standing.
Excitement building each second.

The green flag in the air.
Better than any swinger at first bat.
Into turn one slide by slide.
How can anything top that?

The noise is deafening to most.
Like the Blue Angels, only inches to spare.
Fifteen cars together, sliding into one.

It's like "oh my god" I do declare.

R. S. Morris