Classic Adversaries, Page 1 Of 2 Poem by John Bliven Morin

Again the searing sun ascends
The arid, lonely desert skies;
Blinding, burning, and drying,
Setting everything ablaze with fire;
Again the Tenacious One crouches,
And patiently, sweat flowing, awaits
It, the bane of his existence,
And yet his fondest desire.

Below his perch upon the butte,
Cutting through the burning sands
Like some steaming blackened snake,
To the far horizon, the highway flows;
And somewhere, beyond that distance,
The Swift One is moving ever closer;
It will come, as surely as the dawn,
Experienced, the stalker knows.

Smiling with eager anticipation,
The great wooden crate, he opens
Carefully, for he must not damage
The delicate, dangerous machine within;
Pried open at last, the heavy cover
Falls to the sandy ground, revealing
The ACME Rocket logo upon it;
Chuckling to himself, he wipes his chin.

At last he hears it, that singular sound!
A rushing, whirling, hurricane sound,
Swiftly, madly approaching from afar;
And then he sees it, the object of his scorn,
The object of his longing, love and hate,
He straps the delicate machine upon him
And waits for just the right moment,
That moment for which he had been born!