An Allison Engine

An Allison EngineMy nephew will cock his headat the sound of an Allison enginethe roar of the thunderboats can be heardacross decades in his ears.Even now he’ll pack his coolerand sit for hours in the sunwaiting for the roostertails to appearover the waters of the Columbia.We were small our first timehe’s standing there wearing a straw hatpulled down over his eyeswith a love for a boatnamed after an American beer.Over the years his devotion never waveredalthough he was away for a timeI’m certain the sound of an Allison enginekept him goingit spells out something dear to him nownearer to freedom.If there is a threadthat runs through our livesthrough our deepest held joysI’m sure i’m not exxagerating to saythat the roar of an Allison engineversus the whine of a turbinesets the heart racing quickerand the feet moving towards the waters edge.He’s the last of his kindwe’ve all stopped going to the riverlike we used to.He’ll go until the day the races are no morehe’ll tour the pits and get his buttonshe’ll get his media book and his autographsbecause it means somethingeven he might not understandas nothing more than a way of lifeand the sound of an Allison engineringing in his ears.

An Allison Engine

bill bell

Everett, United States

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  • Susan Vinson
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