Those holes
Dodging one here, dodging one there,
Riding along without a care.
Three in a row, which way do I go,
I close my eyes and curse the so and so.
Oh! what a bang, the old van shook,
But at least it is still going and not in a ruck.
What is that noise? that cannot be right,
I, giving a gasp of utter fright.
Must stop, foot pedal goes straight to the floor,
And the hand brake does not belong to the van anymore.
Coast to a stop, must pull onto the verge,
The engine roars but no longer gives the van any urge.
Beneath the van the axle is in two,
With the stout half shaft plainly in view.
Side to side the rear wheel wobbles,
Not what I expected for all of my troubles.
Beware of those holes, the pot holes I mean,
Especially those that cannot be seen.
Old NED has finally been brought to a stop,
Everything seems to be going to pot.
At least I escaped the indignity,
Of watching that wheel coming off and overtaking me.
Oh! what utter strife,
It is for sure, ONE HELL OF A LIFE !!!
Copyright ©
John Dawson
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