Down at the Track

Emerald Downs' 2009 racing season opens this Friday, April 17, with the first live race at 6pm. I had a total bust of a season in 2008 - except for a small handful of winners, just about nothing went as planned - so I figure I'm due for a change of luck this year. I hope to be well ahead by the running of the 74th Longacres Mile on Sunday, August 16. And don't forget: every Friday night after July 4th pints of beer are only $1.50 all evening long.

As a new Dad, planning to attend the races with my daughter for the first time this spring, here's a poem for myself from Charles Bukowski.

40,000

at the track today,
Father's Day,
each paid admission was
entitled to a wallet
and each contained a
little surprise.

most of the men seemed
between 30 and 55,
going to fat,
many of them in walking
shorts,
they had gone stale in
life,
flattened out....

in fact, damn it, they
aren't even worth writing
about!
why am I doing
this?

these don't even
deserve a death bed,
these little walking
whales,
only there are so
many of
them,
in the urinals,
in the food lines,
they have managed to
survive

in a most limited
sense
but when you see
so many of them
like that,
there and not there,
breathing, farting,
commenting,
waiting for a thunder
that will not arrive,
waiting for the charging
white horse of
Glory,
waiting for the lovely
female that is not
there,
waiting to WIN,
waiting for the great
dream to
engulf them
but they do nothing,
they clomp in their
sandals,
gnaw at hot dogs
dog style,
gulping at the
meat,
they complain about
losing,
blame the jocks,
drink green
beer,
the parking lot is
jammed with their
unpaid for
cars,
the jocks mount
again for another
race,
the men press
toward the betting
windows
mesmerized,
fathers and non-fathers
Monday is waiting
for them,
this is the last
big lark.

and the horses are
totally
beautiful.
it is shocking how
beautiful they
are
at that time,
at that place,
their life shines
through;
miracles happen,
even in
hell.

I decide to stay for
one more
race.