Each champion crushes the wheels
that came before it
to form a monument to speed.
Slick tarmacs, checkered flags,
revved engines,
on the racetrack
nothing’s guaranteed.
So we cruise.
Nascar and booze.
Victory isn’t about the pit crew,
the fireproof suit,
the driver under the roof.
Winning comes down to
where you were made:
nitrogen in the tires,
the welded frame, the roll cage.
Craftsmanship is what wins a crusade.
All crushed frames have a story to tell,
but the ones drafting onto the leaderboard
to be the next king of the hill,
driving themselves to depletion,
hell-bent on full speed.
High on oxycontin and weed.
What a spot
to slingshot to the top,
if only for one season.
©2023 | K.F. Hartless
Visual Verse August Prompt
Cover Art: Marie-Michèle Bouchard





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