Cars

Mr. Ford, why did you make The cars which cause such deep heartache?... From MOTs to punctured tyre, Was that a gun, or did I misfire? Parking tickets, yellow lines; Wheelclamps, countless crushing fines; Insurance costs, CCTV Congestion Charge for you and me; Broken mirrors, cracks and scrapes- Stolen cars, false number plates; Big bills from men I cannot trust, Who warn of camshaft cracks and rust; Some love to drive with beer can filled; ‘Who cares if I, -or they-, are killed?’ Road-rage, shouting, broken glass: Some cannot let an insult pass. The traffic jams we see each day Seem made to wear the clutch away. ‘Was that a space that just went by? Or must I drive ‘till our tank’s dry?’ The eyesore of the breaker’s yard With twisted metal, dull and marred. There’s poisoning from lead-filled plumes; Monoxide clouds, and choking fumes. Excuse me for the way I talk: But Mr. Ford… today I’ll walk!