Lifetime At The Races Poem by Kale Beaudry

there's a racetrack
sailing amongst the mental collection
of seniority
I'm whacked, we're on the moon
fly to the stars, fly to the stars
or continue on down this
truck on a highway

vision partially obscured with not just fingers
constantly waving but not diffusing
burst out, excuses are valid
yes the phone's off, click up and out

a never-ending racetrack in
this mental collection, because people
are always starting
and people are always learning
that's just the way things are.