Pedestrian Rage
Dear Motorists,
In your road-bound 4x4s
And 2-door fashion accessories.
A few things I would like to mention,
Which you seem to have mislaid
Among the air fresheners
And back-window sentiments.
Your indicators, first of all -
If you recall,
Those pretty orange lights which flash
Patiently on the abandoned car
While you pop
Into the shop.
- Are not to show the people round the corn-
Er that you turned without a warn-
Ing to the ones who went before
And who coming after might have known
Where they should be if you had shown.
And as for me,
Pedestrian on the sidelines stood -
Not here to admire your mismatched skirts
And unfinished spoiler,
Nor to be soothed by the thunder
Of your amped up,
Race-tuned wheelbarrow
- But waiting hopelessly for You
And You, and You
To give a clue
So I might know
It's safe to go.
And briefly I would like to say
On behalf of the DVLA,
That driving at half the given limit
Through the speed trap does not win you
Bonus points to pay the fine
For double speed the rest of the time.
Resentfully Yours -
The child down mown
Who could not have possibly have known
That you would come too fast
Around the bend, But has
To wear the scars
Of your neglectful fingers
On the indicator switch.
And who perhaps you might have seen
Were you not the beauty queen
Or prince too keen
To pose along
Or rush headlong
Into their disastrous future.
In your road-bound 4x4s
And 2-door fashion accessories.
A few things I would like to mention,
Which you seem to have mislaid
Among the air fresheners
And back-window sentiments.
Your indicators, first of all -
If you recall,
Those pretty orange lights which flash
Patiently on the abandoned car
While you pop
Into the shop.
- Are not to show the people round the corn-
Er that you turned without a warn-
Ing to the ones who went before
And who coming after might have known
Where they should be if you had shown.
And as for me,
Pedestrian on the sidelines stood -
Not here to admire your mismatched skirts
And unfinished spoiler,
Nor to be soothed by the thunder
Of your amped up,
Race-tuned wheelbarrow
- But waiting hopelessly for You
And You, and You
To give a clue
So I might know
It's safe to go.
And briefly I would like to say
On behalf of the DVLA,
That driving at half the given limit
Through the speed trap does not win you
Bonus points to pay the fine
For double speed the rest of the time.
Resentfully Yours -
The child down mown
Who could not have possibly have known
That you would come too fast
Around the bend, But has
To wear the scars
Of your neglectful fingers
On the indicator switch.
And who perhaps you might have seen
Were you not the beauty queen
Or prince too keen
To pose along
Or rush headlong
Into their disastrous future.