Voluptuous Velocity Poem by Peter Elliott

It's just gone nine o' clock in the morning
And that must be the start of practice
For the Grand Prix
Because into the air
Comes, in the background,
The whine,
The howl,
Rising and falling,
Of high-tuned engines
Accelerating
Holding it at top speed,
Braking.

I had wondered
How it would sound
And now I know:
Intoxicating
Bordering on the euphoric.
Who knows what would happen to my psyche
If that note
Kept on rising higher
And higher
Like a rocket
At a fireworks display
Before bursting into a shower of stars?

For me
Those engines torqueing
Are music.
I could sit back
In my chair
Close my eyes
And enjoy.

An engine opens out
Its note higher than usual
Sending thrills through
The lower part of my spine.

I've enjoyed ten minutes;
Whether it'll still be
As much a pleasure
Hours later in the afternoon
Remains to be seen.