Went to a classic car race. Wanted to drive. This is what happened.

I chose this time to take out my frustrations in the form of a poem:

http://www.singlemoments.com/i/155_5512.jpg

Feel But Don't Touch

The white line as I cornered around the sharpest hairpen turns;
That was what I saw as I imagined the drive.
The rubber being left behind on the pavement as it burns;
That was the scent that lingered behind.

The roar of the exhaust and the whine of the gearbox telling me to shift;
That was what I heard as I accelerated.
The science pushing me into the seatback and the downforce of lift:
Forces I had not time to comprehend.

The dry thirst for more exhileration was a taste I craved,
Noticable only by the cracks in my lips,
As they puckered at each and every press of the clutch.
The turns sharpen so I tighten my grip.

These were the feelings aroused inside as I entered the pits.
I had gained a pass and wanted to explore.
The closer I came to the infinite power of horses,
Was a step closer to a disappointing tour.

On every gleaming coat of paint partitioned from me by a chain,
Were signs that read "Do Not Touch" in plain print.
The words were simply stated and quite clear,
But I knew exactly what those words meant.

My eyes lit up not from the roar of engines or red tach lights,
But instead from the camera flashes behind each line,
That kept me from my dream just behind the wheel.
It was then that I knew the dream wasn't mine.

*G* 2009