Paying the Toll

It greets me twice a day, morning and afternoon Not pleasantly like a song from the musical, Brigadoon No, not this structure that awaits me like a vigilant spy, reminding me of the play's song, "There But For You Go I." Each morning it slows me down as I make my way to work I've come to regard it as a petulant nuisance and a jerk I crawl along at a tedious pace, often hitting the brakes, Red lights flashing as long lines form like slithering snakes Its tempo in the afternoon moves slower than a larghetto Never music to my ears when I decelerate to its concerto The horns I hear are not from an orchestra, I blow one, too But to its maestro I must pay or he'll never allow me through I've come to know the menace well and call it a buffoon because of its rudeness to drivers who have to sing his tune Then came the day I heard the toll would no longer be taken and the rascally little cubicle was soon to be forsaken No longer am I forced to dawdle as I drive along the road Though I think its ghost remains, traffic has swiftly flowed I sing along with the radio, in a pleasant voice I now croon but never do I sing "There But For You Go I" from Brigadoon