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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