Poetry by Jeff Green


Spa Holidays

by cricketjeff on August 29, 2010.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

It’s always fun when Grand Prix gets to Spa,
The Belgian track where hist’ry says it rains,
And careless drivers suffer for their pains;
The winner’s rarely in the fastest car.
The pundits drink their fruit beers in the bar,
Pontificate on press reports of gains,
The managers and pit crews take the strains,
While drivers vie to see who is the Tsar.
  On Friday, rain; Alonso ruled the roost,
  And Saturday was also wet and dry,
  With Webber first young Lewis got a boost —
  That final lap he proved that cars can fly.
  On race day when the weather gods are loosed,
  It’s Hamilton who seems to touch the sky.

Author notes

Damn! That was a good race.

Wonderful driving, stupid crashes