Fast (an acrostic poem)

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Flying by quicker than a speeding bullet

And laughing at how slow that bullet really is

Seconds and minutes turn into hours before you know it

That is the type of speed that kills productivity

Thrilled (an acrostic poem)

There was only so much adrenaline that could flood her system

Helen felt the seat vibrate as the engine revved

Rolling through the corner with the gas pedal on the floor

If she could just squeeze out a bit more speed

Looking for an opening to make her move

Leaping at her chance she dove to the bottom, hoping her car would stick

Even with the other car, she slowly drifted up the track

Determined to never be left behind again

 

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