His echoing heartbeats hit him loud and clear
as he cautiously eyed the chequered flag-waver
He revved up his 750cc kamikaze
beads of perspiration danced on his face.
With the racecourse spread over 12 miles odd
he had to swerve through a steep curved road
with city traffic and narrow coastal lines
not to forget also to dodge county fines.
With the flag-wave, the race started
through the window of his helmet
he saw his targets vroooming free
and head-on began his biking spree.
Wagering with the throttle he raced farther
his goal he realised came nearer
he licked his lips in anticipation
before long, he was in fourth position.
Illegal was the race, hooked greedy was his case
to show them all, in his haste
he nearly missed hitting an old pedestrian
he sped amid blaring horns and a faded police siren.
His steeled determination and focus
brought him close to position one
But then happened one hell of a ruckus
with a quarter mile more to run.
He was kicked sidelong by a racer
the mishap shook him but he was an acer
Losing his balance he hit a tree
but overcame it with few scratches only.
He still managed a third place
on reaching the finishing line ablaze
He earned his grand for his velocity
but rued over his bad luck hazily.
"This one last game", he pleaded abashed,
as I looked at him annoyed totally
Atlast hubby logged out off Roadrash
and devoured his supper with glee!
