Years ago, I bought a car
Second hand, not new
It was a Chrysler
Alpine
In Metallic electric
blue
Top of the line
With head light washer
wipers
Velour upholstery
All round Electric
winders
It was a lovely thing
Oozing aesthetic
beauty
So naturally I coughed
up
All of my hard-earned
booty
That was when I found
out
I’d dropped a clanger
My lovely luxury car
Was in fact an old
banger
It should have taught
me
A lesson about life
But I made the same
mistake
When I married my wife
A traffic cop saw Bimbette knitting while driving
And couldn’t believe
his eyes at all
He angrily shouted at
her “Pull over, pull over”
She shouted back “no,
it’s a shawl”
Conceived by savants
Designed by computers
Precision Built by
robots
And driven by
commuters
Cars keep getting faster and faster
Hurtling from disaster
to disaster
We should slow them
down again
To the speed of the driver’s
brain
“I’ve been to Wales with Jane”
I was told by my
friend
“Then tomorrow Jane
and I
Are going to Lands End”
“And I will probably
take Jane
To London at the
weekend”
I didn’t like to
shatter his illusions
But I had to in the
end
“Jane is the voice on
your SatNav
She’s not a proper
girlfriend”
When drivers choose to undertake
A risky manoeuvre is
undertaken
But what they risk
undertaking
Is an appointment with
an undertaker
Furry, furry dice
Nodding dogs that nod
all day
Look out on the
motorway
With eyes that know the despair in my soul.
Hold-ups on the hills,
Stretched for miles
like bitter pills
Take a break because
tiredness kills
The signs say all
across this land
To the tune of Vincent by Don McClean
I was driving to work this morning
It was just as the day
was dawning
And I noticed a parked-up
AA van
And next to it was a
crying man
But properly weeping
and wailing
Down on his knees with
arms flailing
I just shook my head
with a frown
I knew he was headed
for a breakdown
I always used to see her
And wanted to take a
trip
In her little yellow
beetle
As she cruised the
strip
But she never noticed
me
Though I hoped one day
In her little yellow
beetle
She would drive me
away
Then one day out of the
blue
She pulled up along
side
And said “hello handsome”
And took me off for a
ride
Well, that was quite a
night
That I will never
forget
In her little yellow
beetle
I had the best ride
yet
I had just ordered my dream car
The Porsche I’ve
always wanted to own
So, I contacted all my
friends
By text on my mobile
phone
“Can’t wait for the
new 911”
As simple as that,
just the job
An hour later the door
was kicked in
By the anti-terrorist
squad
In France, they don’t call it a pothole
Instead, they call it
a hen’s nest
It sounds much nicer,
doesn’t it?
But for drivers,
they’re still a pest
People speed
For many reasons
Some are disorganised,
Some are late,
Some are impatient,
Some have no sense of
direction,
For some it’s an
emergency
That fuels their
urgency
But for me, as a
retiree
I have to drive fast
To get there before I
forget
Where it is I’m going
Wherever I drive my Ford Ghia
Whether it be far of
near
No matter if the roads
are clear
In my mirror to the
rear
A BMW’s Teutonic sneer
Will almost always
appear
I want to get a Tom Tom
Or any make of Satnav
But my lady wife won’t
hear of it
Not all the time I
have
Her to map read for me
And give me vague
directions
Saying left instead of
right
At all the intersections
But it’s always my
fault
When we take another
detour
Though it’s her not
paying attention
I don’t want to do
this anymore
For she doesn’t really
map read
She only reads her
women’s mag
But that’s what I’m
stuck with
A fifty-year-old sat
nag
It seems that no matter which road I travel
As soon as I turn onto
it the road works begin
But it’s not the road
works themselves I mind so much
It’s that they’re
never filling the bloody Potholes in
It seems that no matter which road I travel
As soon as I turn onto
it the road works begin
They always get there
before me with one exception
There are never any
problems on the road to ruin
No matter which road I decide to travel along
Road works have got
there before me it seems
I think it’s part of a
new government initiative
“The dig up the roads
to cause congestion scheme”
Some drivers are so selfish
And some are arrogant
with it
It seems that when
they buy a car
They think the road
comes with it
For lent you have to give up
Something that you
enjoy
Well, that gave me a
lot more choices
When I was but a boy
Now it’s not quite so
easy
I don’t enjoy too much
at my age
So, I will have to
give up being cantankerous
Or just give up road
rage
Discarded from a moving car
The litter travels
very far
Each piece small or
big
Performs a little
merry jig
Each windblown piece
at play
Participates in the
ballet
Plastic bags float
with ease
Waltzing high upon the
breeze
Sweet papers flutter
Down in the gutter
Coke cans or maybe tango
Dance the tin can
fandango
While larger papers
jitterbug
Thanks to the
litterbug
