|Jan and I were going to dinner the other night when we pulled to a stop behind a red corvette that was stopped behind an SUV that was waiting for a break in traffic in order to pull out from the exit ramp on I-75 onto US 301. There was no place for the SUV to go, but the imbecile in the corvette laid on his horn and tried to get around the SUV on the right side. The driver of the SUV fortunately did not attempt to drive into the passing traffic for had he/she they would surely have been hit by a passing car. When the SUV had an opportunity to pull out the corvette raced past and had to stop at the red light about 200 feet down the road. I wrote this poem about the idiot.THE IDIOT IN A RED CORVETTE
Copy Write © 2010 Gordon Kuhn
Last night——in darkening traffic,
I came across an automobile driving mome,
one, who, for the safety sake of the rest of us,
should have stayed, remained at home.
This was an impatient moron.
A blockhead born to be.
A sorry sight to see or find,
behind a wheel.
So important, he felt himself,
so——such a deal
to no one but himself I think.
A self important imbecilic deal behind a wheel.
Oh, I’ll grant that his red Corvette certainly was mighty shiny,
even though his brains were most like sat upon and very tiny.
Just some unpleasant father’s unpleasant son.
One, who most certainly,
I’m sure you would find,
if not agree, had, most likely,
rushed from his expectant mother’s womb
screaming at the delivering doctor,
or an unlucky cab driver,
whoever there was to unhappily doomed be found
waiting to catch the most carping, niggling, block of loam
to sudden burst upon this blessed earth
upon this favored earth to retched burst,
and to thereby ever allow from his mouth the foam
of impatient disquietude the planet to openly and sadly roam
a most caviling critic,
or am I being a cynic,
a disparager of imbeciles, who,
with little regard for another’s auto condition or position in traffic,
will most readily honk his God damned horn.