We Are All Insane Drivers
The sun is out, black birds sing,
All seems calm, happy, and gay,
As I walk through the door, over the porch,
To my car parked in the drive way.
Her motor purrs, groans and growls,
And “Peace” is changed to “Drive”,
Where “Road rules” mean “Road suggestions”,
Where the plan is to simply survive.
And it begins, the tailgater, the horn blower,
The cut across lanes when you can,
Ignore the cyclist, pedestrian, stop sign, red light,
And swerve past the ice cream van.
Finally, after scratching the car next door ,
I leave it parked in the centre of town,
And, peacefully, calmly, I proudly walk upright,
Into the court, with my white wig and my gown.
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