So, I’m driving back home at the end of the day,

When a stupid young driver is ready to play.

     He’s weaving  about at the back of my car –

     But this is the time that he’s gone too far.

 

Thinking “He’s in a hurry,”  I just let him by

When a very rude gesture just catches my eye.

     We stop at the traffic lights, and whilst we wait

     I copy down the number from his number plate.

 

There’s a telephone number upon his van –

“Yes, now I’ve got you - you nasty little man.”

     Down goes the number - I’m feeling quite cross,

     But early next morning I speak to his boss.

 

Number plate’s noted, the driver’s confirmed –

“Is this the sort of person to represent your firm?”

      His boss is annoyed and when he comes back –

      He finds his cards ready, and he’s given the sack.

 

 

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This poem is based, roughly on a true event in my life.  Sadly I've sold my Morris now, but to a good owner I hope.

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