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.
Copyright on all my poems
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.