by Barry Gonen
Crouched down as if in a Grand Prix, he looks just forwards.
Arms straight on the wheel, shades perched on the bridge of his nose.
Never glances from side to side, head down, cool, no frown.
Right foot pressing hard, left, ever ready for that change so quick,
Swerving and skidding round his 'opposition', making them sick,
Last minute breaking, spinning acceleration,
Gambling on the traffic lights not ever changing,
Mirrors redundant, indicators never used,
White lines are for the blind, not him,
Inside overtaking hardly a sin.
Speed limits meaning nothing,
Pedestrians, "Be you warned!"
When you hear his horn,
when he comes your way,
Step back onto the sidewalk
Live for another day!
One hand on the wheel, elbow resting on the door sill.
Second hand with phone to ear, gas pedal to the floor.
Six speaker stereo system thumping out its noise,
Nothing on this earth will alter his poise,
He's your Macho Male driver.
It's not important in which car he sits,
From the smallest mini to the largest limousine
He will never lose his grip!
If you meet him on the highway, just let him pass you by,
And just hope there is a policeman who will catch him,
or at least one who will try!
He will eventually find his sticky end in a ditch or on a bend
I just hope he'll be on his own with nobody else's friend!
They'll say it was inevitable, nobody'll be surprised,
His neighbors and family knew his driving was suicide.
He thought he was the King of the road!
He thought he was invincible!
He forgot he was not unique,
There are far too many like him,
We see them on the roads, every week!
So, be careful when you are behind the wheel,
Avoid these criminal maniacs,
Give them space; don't get in their face!
Don't give them an excuse to start a race!
Get home safely at a leisurely pace!
Live for another day!
Barry Gonen 2006 - All Rights Reserved
Great clods of mud,
Huge sods of dampened soil,
Furrows deep in heaven soaked blessings.
Flowing rivulets criss-crossing soakened trails
turned quagmire traps for the unwary trekker.
Ruts and nooks and crannies and ditches
now full of life's flowing essence.
Laden branches bowing low with weight,
Straining, breaking, under shifting winds.
Scattering ripened fruits to rot in shame.
Meadows turned bogs,
Stream's bank's burst,
Flooded pastures turned lakes or ponds.
Flattened crops crushed and cursed.
Cultivated fields turned marshland swamps.
Drenched and drowned once burrowed mammals,
laying lifeless, strewn on protruding islets of escape,
tempting hungry, hovering birds of prey.
Heavy dark grey clouds looming yet closer,
threatening a further sudden deluge,
On this morn, of another wet winter's day.
Barry Gonen. 2007 All Rights reserved