I did it again,
My car caressed a pothole,
For the 100th time,
Did not see it,
Full of water and oil,
Daily occurrence,
A sodding minefield,
Every time it rains,
A piece of road,
No longer exists,
Then after a few days,
A bloke in an old van,
With some sacks of cold asphalt,
Throws black stones,
Into a water filled hole,
And by the end of the day,
Those black stones,
Are missing in action,
Bloody potholes,
Tire eaters,
Rim bashers,
The authority after a few years,
Decided to relay the tar,
But due to cuts in the budget,
Only a microfilm,
Of asphalt is laid,
So for two months exactly,
We drive on the black bliss,
Then along comes a thunderstorm,
And washes it all away,
Who lays the asphalt,
Don’t even bother,
To make the edges correct,
Like a dress without a hem,
Becomes frayed after a day,
The edges aren’t even in line,
There are steps leading into the grass,
Verging on the ridiculous,
Sometimes it makes me laugh,
No wonder my car,
Hobbles along the road,
Potholes are more common here,
Than people in work,
Roman roads lasted 2000 years,
These they don’t last a year,
Imagine the poor bikers and cyclists,
Dodging every blip,
Dangerous are these roads without potholes,
Lethal they are today,
Can you imagine how many wreaths of flowers,
I see on my trip to work,
Many foreign manual workers,
Find themselves heading under a truck,
The papers are full of this news,
bad luck?
We drive so fast without looking,
We are too busy with our smart phones,
To see the red, red light,
Potholes, cyclists, idiots,
Blind people, women applying make up,
Is what I have to deal with all the time,
Cars in ditches, head on collisions,
People laying dead in the road,
Happens to often,
Only this year I dragged an old man,
From his overturned car,
So a pothole is a pain in the arse,
But it is a pain I can deal with,
For it is just the tip of an iceberg,
On my daily commute to work.
©Darren.Hobson December 2013