People get impatient with my anemic low horsed Civic car so slow.

Environmental concern to get high mileage. Not conducive to rapid starts and quick stops at myriad stop lights and sign.

Poem delineates my experiences in the, um, slow lane.


Symphony of Horns

I embark
From Parking
To the Road.

I proceed;
Slowly I go,
Save petrol
And wear and tear
On the ancient
Chariot.

But wait, I am
not Alone.

A gaggle of
Motoring Publics
Has been ensnared,
Behind my carriage.

Soaring
Way beyond any Limit,
And now Hyper and Trés Hyper
Seething smoldering chomping
Morons-mighty mercurial
Wings Clipped

Their lights
Pulse from my
Mirror—
Race Faster Race Faster!
Get outta the Way

I am steadfast.

A symphony
Of horns
Roars behind.

I
Want to,
Jump out and
Fisticuff them all.

But I meander onward
Toward my target.

Then, Road widens.

They fly by with horses shrieking
Countenances twisting-at me.

I turn away and let it go.
Let them boil the blood and
Wear their motors
Out.




Poetry by Stephen Jay
Read 666 times
Written on 2011-09-26 at 06:14

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I wouldn't honk or make faces, but I would be one of those impatient people desperately trying to pass you. A particular brand of car seems to attract a particular type of person. I dread encountering Hondas (though I own one) because nearly all of their drivers are militantly law-abiding, and I am not.
2011-10-01


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Smile , whats the hurry? No worry's , as my wise Aussy mate would say , look ans see what becomes of those petrol heads , as you pass 'em , blown a gasket , in temper , kicking in the oh so cool looking body work , while you coolly pass 'em , you will be smiling all the day , while they will be in a bad temper all there day.
Ken ( D Williams )
2011-09-26