Blooming heck … they’ve dug
The main road up … yet again:
Temporary traffic lights galore,
But just two of those high-vis men.
It’s so very inconvenient
A total First World pain,
I forget all about mindfulness,
And wonder who’s to blame.
Maybe there’s a giant grease
Burger blocking up the sewer,
Thank God my involvement
Is confined to being “A Queuer”.
The lights go green for a second,
And then flick back to red,
A boy racer revs his engine,
As testosterone fills his head.
Meanwhile … I’ve dug deep
And found a zen-like inner calm:
An alternative universe in which
I wish high-vis men no harm.
Pam Ski
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