AuburnScribbler

The 4th Stage Stall (written when the “Tour of Britain” bike race came to town)

Now; we tread; a different route,

as hometown’s now; Dutch roundabout,

for pedalling done; by sponsored sperm,

makes convenience, writhe and squirm,

rudeness comes; from them; hardhats,

creating day; of such hard facts,

“kings of the road”, they need to race,

upon ignored; pothole; surface,

“move!” They say, as they’re riding,

with true self, there’s no confiding;

coz’ this is home, and not playground,

their seething conduct, isn’t sound,

I know like me, they’re trying to smile,

in such sad times, designed; so vile,

but manners are so beautifully free,

hope they don’t crash, into a tree!