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This is a poem I wrote about the race.
Tim's Race
As I enter the racing grounds,
a musty smell fills the air.
A smell of dry grass and car fumes.
This is the smell a racer loves.
I can see the track.
As we reach the track,
I see the many men,
drinking, smoking, swearing.
What a crowd.
We sit near the pit.
A mysterious voice speaks,
"Gentlemen and ladies, start your engines".
A huge roar fills the air.
The flag waves wildly,
and they're off!
I watch the cars race away.
Slowly,
the roar of the cars returns.
I wait,
and wait.
There it is!
Car 75!
Tim Allen's racing car.
The tool man himself.
His car thunders by.
Lap after lap,
car after car,
the final lap comes.
The wild waving of the flag,
the race is over.
After the race,
we wait.
A loud crowd gathers.
"Tim's over there!!"
We race over to the gate.
Tim walks to where his car is parked.
He walks over to his many fans.
Grabs a pen,
and begins to sign autographs,
and joke with the crowd.
We all try to get through.
Pushing takes place.
I'm smushed!
But I wiggle my way to the front,
where Tim signs my shirt.
"Thanks Tim"
I say as I plow my way through,
through the tons of Home Improvement fans.
Tim grunts,
"Arrrghhh, arrrghh, arrghhh!"
I stand in front of Tim's car,
and I smile.
"Click".
My dad takes my picture.
What a day.
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Poem and Sears Point Raceway pics are the property of Camille M. Konopnicki and cannot be
used without permission. Copyright ©1996, 1997 Camille M. Konopnicki
All Rights Reserved
Last Updated: November 29, 1997