David Smith Poet Political Verse

Truck Numbers to wear down minds

We cannot help but wonder,
What it would take for you to admit your blunder,
In putting so many trucks on our road,
For it to erode,
And our rates to explode.

We cannot help but wonder,
How you convinced key people in council to surrender,
Our rights to correct your blunder,
In over-estimating the ability of the,
   environment to recover
From what to you, was given over.

We cannot help but wonder,
How we will cope with the thirty years of tears,
Rate arrears,
Crunching gears,
A life behind closed shutters,
Living in fear of trucks and mad hatters,
Children breathing in dark matters,
Roads in tatters,
An environment that is only fit for rafters,
And fast climbers.

So, yes we do mind,
That you seem to be out of your mind,
Nothing but truck numbers on your mind,
Dollar signs making you blind,
To any views we have in mind,
Making us wonder if you are fit enough,
   for children to mind,
With the environment not registering on 
   on your mind.

Yet we will ask one more time,
Before we form that picket line,
For you to fix your blunders,
Over truck numbers,
So, our roads will not be left in tatters,
And our children can breathe in air, free of dark matters.

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