Almost Taste The Flavour (rev)

It was a fat-tyred 4WD utility hard back,
sort of ute you’d expect a contractor to
drive – except for tacky stickers all over,
no genuine subby does that!

Snailed down-range at 30KpH, girl-like,
braking every bend, frail-brained driver
sending donkey-dead karma, wandering
double white lines again and again.

Less distressing than a burning irritation;
my imagination or have I mellowed some?
A pedant doing penance paid in trailing time –
wisdom wasted as I beamed him potent

pictures of my delicate appreciation and
chagrin, mental boot imbedded tersely
in his ample arse; that thought at least
replaced another evil thought I fasted on.

I bought myself some charity, gave the dork
his space & he excelled himself, increased
his snail-like pace, broke the Law by speeding
through restricted zones beside the school.

Man’s a fool who’ll suffer for stupidity but not
today, had his way with indolence – I’m proud
I kept my peace, waited in the queue bemused,
let good fortune favour me. Hell, I almost taste
the flavour…
© 11 March 2006, I.D. Carswell