Nascar Dads

 

Walking around, a beer can in your hand,

Your t-shirt stripped off and tucked into your back pocket,

Like a flag waving in the breeze, drawing attention to your butts.

 

Your bare chests glistening in the sun, bronzing like leather,

And your beer inflated bellies hanging over your belts,

With the buckles of eagles clutching an American flag,

On a background of the Stars And Bars.

 

Oh to bring you into my world, for just one heated night,

To let you see what you’ve been missing, to give you some insight.

You Nascar Dads, your vote so sought after,

How I’d like to make you cry out for more.

 

Yes, you Nascar Dads, I have an agenda,

To catch you half dressed, wandering around with your beer soaked brain,

When you’re on a Nascar bender.

 

Oh, you protest, and say you were so drunk you don’t remember,

But in the middle of the night, when you think no one knows,

You’ll remember what it was like, to be in my passion’s throws.

 

That’s right, Nascar Dad,

You’ll remember that love that dare not speak its name,

While you wander around a race track, shirtless,

Belly hanging low over your low hanging belt.

 

You’ll remember the desire, and you’ll burn with the fire,

Wishing you could be with me,

Wishing you could taste of my brand of sin.

 

You Patriotic porker, on the slightly hefty side,

One night with me would have your eyes opened wide.

You’d squeal like the pig, you so desperately wish to be,

And you’ll forever fantasize about that moment in the sling.

 

Oh yes, Nascar Dad, for me you will always lust,

But never will your fantasies be fulfilled.

No, Nascar Dad, I can’t be more than an unfulfilled desire,

Not as long as you vote for a liar.

 

So wake up from your drunken stupor,

And realize your most intimate dreams fulfilled.

You parade around half naked in the sun,

Looking for a little fun.

Well, I could be that boundless jolly,

When you realize the price of your folly.

Vote G.W. out of office,

Then, for you, my love I’ll confess. (Uh huh).

 

Oh stud boy, with your reddened neck,

You may not be as hot as Ben Affleck,

But I could give you one little thrill,

If you stop George W. from passing another ill-conceived bill.

I could be the one you crave,

If you vote out a President so depraved.

 

Come on, Nascar Dad, you know you want what I have to offer,

And I’ll be yours when you give all your support to the democrat coffers.

I don’t want your money, just one tiny vote,

Then, on beer soaked desires, away you can float.

 

To dream of Pam Anderson, or maybe Sean Penn,

Until you come to terms with your sexuality again.

Maybe you’ll end up straight, like you say you are,

Or maybe you’ll get run over by a Nascar.

There’s always the chance you’ll wake to your true nature,

But I doubt the world is ready for a Nascar enlightened creature.

 

 

-- R. A. Melos

copyright 2004

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