Why I Love Demolition Derby
First of all, girls with big tits.
Secondly, the sound of dog box thunder cars
getting push-started by station wagons
in the gladiatorial twilight on the edge of abattoirs and railyards—
then the satisfyingly orgiastic cracking
of compacted bumpers and accordioned metal,
crunch of collapsed door panels
my old Chevy lurking between the stalled wrecks,
waiting to gun it again and strike—
an evil black El Camino winning the crowd over,
finally limping off to die in cloud of smoke on the perimeter
all the brightly colored carcasses suddenly springing to life
then grinding to a death halt in a whoosh of fire extinguisher foam.
Climax red lights in a hot brown haze of adrenalin and gasoline,
the stinging dust stinking of exploded radiators and burnt rubber
and girls with big tits spilling beer with their applause.