Obliviousness concerning lapsed driver license

(alternate title: days of yore bubba's zayda

flush with buggy boo horse sense).

Norristown City Hall police person

informed yours truly

on September 15th, 2020

mine automotive driver license expired,

thus between January 13th 2019

and September 17th, 2020

I drove automobile,

(whether borrowed or owned)

without vehicular infraction.

Prevarication about me getting arrested absent bail

and locked up into solitary confinement without fail

predicated upon outdated invalid license lands me in jail

cuz fabrication jest haint gonna happen,

hammering out suspenseful account I cannot nail,

no matter I would love to concoct tall tale

Subsequently, yours truly

steers toward truth telling in the main,

whereby prefabrication painstakingly

heavily taxes me aging brain

especially bragging about

heavenly guardian angel,

said divine intervention I abstain,

though quite tempting

to (beer lee) draft believable hopping plain

vanilla drab lackluster circumstance,

and embellish a flimsy fib

including agent provocateurs quite urbane,

whereby unwittingly, haphazardly,

and accidentally committing

non moving violation

imposing driving record stain,

particularly when aforesaid

minor harmless transgression

invites punishing reign

innocently, only unintentionally

to flout PENNDOT rule,

which hoop fully doth explain

reason nevertheless quandary

necessitated posse comitatus.

Therefore ipso facto such quasi confession,

albeit unexciting and bland

necessitates self imposed liberty

letting mine imagination command

poetic license crafting experience

resident within dreamland,

where truthfulness I blithely expand,

cuz anonymous reader(s)

more inclined to gravitate toward firebrand,

wannabe, whereby reasonable rhyme

nothing particularly grand

written by invisible hand.

Provide me please gainful opportunity

to enable and allow

glorified, edified, and crucified across

millennia one divine creature hood da boss

(no not Bruce Springsteen)

sanctifying supposed dregs of humankind

essentially flotsam and jetsam dross

humdrum life of random Tulliver kin

inhabiting the mill on the floss

a riveting saga (also Silas Marner

written by same author) with matted gloss.

Ah, methinks how George Eliot  

(Mary Ann Evans) quite literary ace,

her fiction she didst buttress and brace

galvanizing, fictionalizing, 

and enumerating disgrace

appears quaint, thee second 

decade of twenty first century

nostalgic imaginary place,

yours truly would clamor to live

exempt from careering, jackknifing, 

and speeding, rat race

peace of mind impossible mission 

leisurely pedestrian strolling
(think about taking stop at Willoughby),

where helter skelter breakneck pace

nonexistent without a trace.