how to drive a stock car

the morning after Elvis died
the wind had blown the patio umbrellas
out onto the lake where they
floated like an amusement the
stock car drivers
remorsefully hungover
stared and
hummed sadly Blue Suede Shoes like a
quiet Handel chorus the
King was dead and there were
only Cigarettes and Whiskey left
that and the blush of numbered cars waiting
for a weekend fame and the
coloured flags of speedway semaphore

Final Lap
Session Finished 

there was gunfire from the highway
there were claimers on trailers


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