Larry the Race Caller

Mic in his hand, program wrote in his fist. He taps his

watch once, crowd leans into the mist. He knows every gate,

every long shot and stall three. He's calm like a surgeon, heart banging

63. Larry the race caller, voice like a starting gun bang.

Every word faster and taller, riding that rail in your veins. Larry the race

caller, turns seconds into a stampede. When he says go,

it's all over. You feel that fire stamp the beat. He nails every

name, from Silver Comet to Blue Parade. Spits split times like thunder,