He was so ‘oldde’ that I refer to him in middle English.
There was an old man with white hair
Who had the most arduous stare,
He watched as I drove down his road
Contorting, ready to explode.
I got out the car and looked in my bag,
As jobsworth began to lose his rag.
“YOU CAN’T PARK THERE!!!” He warbled with ire,
His face as a spade that had attacked a fire.
I looked at the car, there were no double yellows,
He, by this time had started to bellow,
“I’m sick of you people blocking the whole street!”
I only wanted to go to the shop for cat meat.
I pointed out that there was plenty of space
This added to the ‘slapped ass’ look on his face
“WELL DON’T BE LONG THEN!” he shouted and wiggled a claw,
“Oh find something to do!” I said rudely by the shop door.
I could still hear him ranting and raving and spitting
I purchased my cat food and returned to my sitting
I made a phonecall in the car
For some reason I had to have the last hurrah
I couldn’t help but wonder about people’s lives
Whether happiness is found in causing pain and strife
Or whether you could just be polite
Or positive, or bright…
…Just for once, would it really hurt
Not to throw someone face down in the dirt?
And try to be civil instead of sour?
And not to hate for a little bit of power.
