School Mums and their huge four wheel drives
A combination that
Is best avoided if one does
Not want to be mowed flat
As little Jonny gets a lift
One hundred yards from home
In Mummy’s brand new Range Rover
So that she’s not alone
When battle starts outside the school
Dare someone not give way
To her with perfect make up and
Red painted nails that say
You really shouldn’t mess with me
For in my truck I’m big
And you will be crushed ‘neath my tyres
Like an abandoned twig!
And so she ploughs straight right on through
In case dear Jonny’s late
But how much better would it be
If she showed much less hate
For all the other road users
Showed them they were worth more
Than just the inconvenience
She can’t stand; abhors!
And set a good example for
Her boy so when he grows
No matter what car he then drives
He’ll have respect to show
Him up to be a warrior
For good, kindness and fun
And maybe walk his kids to school
The way she should have done!
Why is it the rain
Washes away tolerance?
Does it shrink the heart?
Queues, cones and chaos
The three ‘c’s’ of traffic jams
Holding up a journey
As roads are over crammed
Halting all the vehicles
In automated blocks
With tempers flaying frustrated
Losing minutes off the clock
But that’s the way it falters
In rush hours general rule
As infrastructure battles when
The kids go back to school
There are sentries on our roads
All dressed in red and white
That line the highways mile on mile
Without giving insight
As to a reason why they’re there
For in their loyal rows
The empty passage t’other side
Leaves us out of the know
For it appears they simply stand
On guard biding their time
In conical formation and
With no reason and no rhyme!
Saluting all the traffic
As it just trundles by
The cones directing queues of cars
To jam! Oh how I sigh!
A spindly man
With piggy small eyes
A wiry complexion
That says he’ll despise
Any who park
Too long over time
He’ll smell out offenders
With his nose that drips slime!
With a sharp pointed beak
And a heart made of stone
The warden of traffic
On the street, all alone
And dressed in a vest
Of green and dark blue
With peak cap and badge
He’ll be waiting for you!
Oh Friday traffic – what a bore
With queues so very long
Why do you hold the whole town up
In melancholy song
Of engines churning constantly
With odd loud hoot of horn
Or brakes a-screeching to a halt
And people so forlorn
All wending down the crammed packed roads
Intent to make their way
With haste to weekend’s resting post
And home without delay!
FRIDAY AFTERNOON TRAFFIC ON THE STEMMONS FREEWAY AT CONTINENTAL STREET. MOST OF THE TRAFFIC IS MOVING SOUTH – NARA – 547785 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I believe there is a traffic god
An adverse guru of the roads
An all-watching observant being
Who delights when we explode
At the mass of vehicular congestion
That snarls up and moves so slow
Disrupting any previous suggestion
That the roads would smoothly flow.
This highway master and authority
I swear takes great delight
When we’re in a rush with little time
Knowing that we’ve left it tight
For by some sadistic fate or irony
The roads then become so chock a blocked
From shed lorries loads and escaped cows
To queues backing up gridlocked.
But wait! For with boggling obsession
Ensnaring drivers mind
We slow down our pace still further
To rubber neck in kind
But why we ask in wonder
Do we feel the need to stare
Causing yet another jam
That shouldn’t really now be there!
The reason is so simple
It’s not found in our psychology
But in this truth, the traffic god
Likes ‘jam’ and bread for tea!
And so to satiate his hunger
He conjures preserves that he’ll adore
Especially on Fridays
With traffic jams galore!