A Hurt Passenger Loosens His Tongue

These bastards styling as men’s movers From their short trips expect universe; Traveler to pay for bag in booth Or get ready to lose his front tooth… I’m the sorely aggrieved passenger Usefully turned God’s messenger. You don’t passenger try to clean through; Your cheap hapless lies make out as true, Voices sounding like owners might die, If they should be asked a probing “why?” Now, I see a business of necks squeezed, Until moisture drops, no pressure eased… A once-good driver turns a dummy From grabbed money bulging his tummy; Sure-to-invite tears obesity That shortens dear life without pity… “Traveler not the same as his load,” Say Nigerian drivers on the road…”