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MOTOCROSS POEM
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Motocross
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Ode To The Pee Wee Mom
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In the pits, he dresses with care,
motorcycles surround us, everywhere.
Goggles, helmet, knee braces and pants,
necessary gear, to begin the dance.
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The Gladiators of Motocross, they all are here.
“Don’t forget, Mom” he grins, “Show No fear.”
The experts come back; their race is done,
one is missing, I clutch at my son.
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“Be careful out there,” says one as he passes by,
Why are we here? Why, oh why?
“The whoops are rough, the corners fast,
stay on the gas, Boy, or you’ll be last.”
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Where is the sport, where is the fun?
They call his race, I want to run.
Final words I wish I could say,
at the starting line, on his big day.
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Instead, I say what he needs to hear,
and promise again to show no fear.
A silent prayer for this son of mine,
what I should have said at the starting line.
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You don’t need to go so fast,
there’s nothing wrong with being last.
Should you need to feel the speed,
to take to the air, like a bird just freed,
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think of me up in the stands,
with pounding heart and shaking hands.
The crowd moans,I peek to see,
two have crashed,but not my Pee Wee.
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The final turn, the final jump.
In my throat, an enormous lump.
The checkered flag is in the air,
I want to look, but I do not dare.
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“Lady, lady, is that your son?
Gee, lady, your boy just won.”
On rubber legs, I make my way,
to the finish line, of his big day.
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He grins at me, He knows he's fast,
“I did what you told me, Mom, I kicked some a$$.”
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