I hate it when at night I’m driving out
And hear the thump of music from afar,
Before I get cut up by some great lout
Considerably younger than his car.
They run the lights, and hoot, and zoom about
To show how fast and powerful they are,
And every time I hear one revving hard
I hope he’s got his organ donor card.
The young are bad – especially the males –
And yet the elderly are even worse
They creep along like narcoleptic snails
As though they were already in a hearse;
At roundabouts their nerve entirely fails,
And, if you catch one trying to reverse,.
You’re stuck behind them there till God knows when –
You’ll be a pensioner yourself by then.
At least the coffin-dodgers are polite,
Unlike the four-wheel driving imbeciles.
The 4 x 4s I hate the most are white,
Like overgrown fridge-freezers put on wheels.
Their drivers, perched at an enormous height,
Have trouble mastering these Chavmobiles
And do a lot of practising to learn
To make a perfect seventeen-point turn.
The 4 x 4s are arrogant, but so
Are Lexus and Mercedes drivers. They
Push in and tailgate everywhere they go
And play at tag along the motorway,
But when you see a Transit van, you know
The only thing to do is start to pray.
At least the Volvo’s quiet and well-bred –
Except you might be bored to death instead.
I hate the lot: the nervous: the insane;
The bullies; the uncertain navigators;
The ones who don’t know how to pick a lane;
The ones who never use their indicators;
The ones who don’t appear to have a brain;
The ones who seem to need defibrillators –
I really don’t know how they all survive
When I’m the only person who can drive.