Racecar

There was a young unhappy boy,
who owned every imaginable toy.
However he could not have fun,
with all his toys, or even just one.
His father thought long and hard,
and finally saw a picture on a card
of a racecar.

So, in a great hurry,
he entered his son in a soapbox derby.
He told his son, expecting him to go through the roof,
but his son just said quite aloof:
“I’ve tried to play with every toy,
and your distraction will bring me no joy.
But I hear the trophy’s made of gold,
so I’ll melt it down and have it sold.”

His father was a little shocked,
or more accurately in quite a fright,
he stayed up throughout the night,
and in the morning, checked the shed,
ensured that with lumber it was well stocked,
and got his son out of bed.

They worked for hours, for many weeks,
and the son would comment, “We’re suck freaks!”
From wheels to doors they built it all,
and brought it to the course at the mall.

When the boy saw his adversaries,
he shook his head,
and tried to convince his father this was quite unnecessary.
(The boy next to him said, “When this is over you’re dead.”)

After much coaxing
and a little coercion,
the father’s son
told the other boy
“You’re just hoaxing,
at least I didn't buy that toy.
I built mine over forty hours,
adding forty six horsepower.
And when this race is over and done,
you’ll see that I’m number one!”

And with this new determination,
the racers started their downward migration
towards the finish.

In the end the father’s son,
sadly was not the victor.
The other boy said “Now who’s number one?”
And smashed in his car meter –
just for fun.

Then he started to maul the boy,
and tear him limb to limb.
The father came to the rescue,
fortunately for him.
Then the son in quite a fury,
tackled the bully to the ground,
and drove him further in, with a grisly cracking sound.

Do not worry the bully lives,
but now he never takes, but only gives.
The boy and his father returned home,
and talked about the race.

The boy quite calmly told,
a commentary quite bold.
“I hated the car and the track,
but I loved hearing that boy’s bones crack.
I hated steering and hearing jeering,
but I loved pushing in the dirt,
and hearing cries of hurt.
I think I don’t need toys,
I’ll wrestle my life with other boys.”

His father looked so sad,
and hurt to his very core,
but the boy snorted,
and to this show of emotions retorted:
“Don’t try to sway me anymore,
You’re arguments simply won’t be heard.
Now I’m off to find a trainer,
who’s skilled, not a fraud or lamer.
Someday you’ll still be ashamed,
by how you turned me down,
but I’ll have gleaned immaculate fame,
and I’ll wear robes and a gold crown.
Now until we meet again,
I’m afraid this is the end.”

With that the boy left the home,
and never bothered to even phone.
Many years later, all was true,
but it came at a price, a deep scar,
when he died by being hit by a racecar.

Anyone can make their own dreams,
about being rich or famous, or beauty queens,
but it is rare to see,
one consider the costs carefully.
Now answer this question as the poem ends,
what are your dreams?
Pray tell, my friends.

Herbert O. Holzbauer
© September 2004

Midi: "Whole Lota Shakin Going On"
(Love That Harley)
(www.dochemp.com)

Graphic: "Race Car"
(Michael Almond Portfolio)
(www.michaelalmond.com)