My

un-

cle

has

a

coun-

try

place

that

no

one

knows

a-

bout.

He

says

it

used

to

be

a

farm

be-

fore

the

mo-

tor

law.

And

on

Sun-

days

I

e-

lude

the

eyes

and

hop

the

tur-

bine

freight

To

far

out-

side

the

wire

where

my

white-

haired

un-

cle

waits.

Jump

to

the

ground

as

the

tur-

bo

slows

a-

cross

the

bor-

der

line.

Run

like

the

wind

as

ex-

cite-

ment

shiv-

ers

up

and

down

my

spine.

Down

in

his

barn

my

un-

cle

pre-

served

for

me

an

old

ma-

chine

For

fif-

ty

odd

years,

to

keep

it

as

new

has

been

his

dear-

est

dream.

I

strip

a-

way

the

old

de-

bris

that

hides

the

shin-

ing

car.

A

brill-

iant

Red

Bar-

chet-

ta

from

a

bet-

ter

van-

ished

time.

I

fire

up,

the

will-

ing

eng-

ine

re-

spond-

ing

with

a

roar.

Tires

spit-

ting

gra-

vel,

I

com-

mit

my

week-

ly

crime.

Wind

in

my

hair,

Shift-

ing

and

drift-

ing

Me-

chan-

i-

cal

mus-

ic,

A-

dren-

a-

line

surge,

Well

weath-

ered

leath-

er,

hot

me-

tal

and

oil.

The

scent-

ed

coun-

try

air,

Sun-

light

on

chrome,

The

blur

of

the

land-

scape,

eve-

ry

nerve

a-

ware.

Sud-

den-

ly

a-

head

of

me

a-

cross

the

moun-

tain

side,

A

gleam-

ing

al-

loy

air

car

shoots

towards

me

two

lanes

wide.

I

spin

a-

round

with

shriek-

ing

tires

to

run

the

dead-

ly

race.

Go

scream-

ing

through

the

val-

ley

as

a-

no-

ther

joins

the

chase.

Drive

like

the

wind,

strain-

ing

the

lim-

its

of

ma-

chine

and

man.

Laugh-

ing

out

loud

with

fear

and

hope

i've

got

a

des-

per-

ate

plan.

At

the

one

lane

bridge

I

leave

the

gi-

ants

stran-

ded

at

the

ri-

ver

side.

Race

back

to

the

farm

to

dream

with

my

un-

cle

at

the

fire-

side.