A Race In The Wet Poem by Peter Rose

The track is flooded in some parts
the tyres all grooved from the start
The speeds will be slow, they say
but that is relative to what you may
slow speed in the wet
is far faster than you or I could get
on dry roads and sunshine high
we still would be last and left to sigh
Death stalks not a dusty track
broken bones need more than that
but wet and standing rain
prospects of much pain.
What looks so slow in TV show
is chaos and all reason laid low
a hundred and twenty miles an hour
driving by seeing a distant tower
when all you can see just in front of you
while around you are others struggling to
takes skill and courage in equal measure
never mind the winners treasure
the normal person would be dafter
than a drunk swinging from a rafter
to try this racing in the spray
trying on the track to stay
So praise these charioteers
greet them home with your cheers
modern version of ancient arena
Young men longing to be keener
may they race and live this day
all who do so have earned their pay.