Traffic Lights

 

At sixteen years I bought myself the finest birthday prize,

I bought a motorcycle and despite my mothers cries,

I set out to the open roads spurred on by youth and zest,

Through summers never ending it was better than the best.

 

God knows I took my chances though the roads were traffic free,

In nineteen sixty life was rich the world was just for me,

Petrol only four and nine no parking fees to pay,

Those curving coursing loving lanes would lead me far away.

 

The coastal road with the endless turns and vistas to delight,

The steep decline for raging speed hard burning through the night,

Quite helmetless I felt the wind come tugging through my hair,

And I was Hector sword in hand the hero without care.

 

There was no simple reason but to me it was my all,

I heard the siren calling and could not resist the call,

And even when a friend was killed it didn’t stop the urge,

When both desire and fantasy are licensed there to merge.

 

It wasn’t speed or not just that that pointed to my goal,

But something deep within my being was seeking to be whole,

I rationalised that freedom was the catchword for the way,

And never really saw toward the closing of the day.

 

But that was nineteen-sixty and those days are gone and past,

They sped like tarmac under wheels, they were not meant to last,

They fade away like exhaust smoke they flow like hourglass sand,

And Hector is a myth to men and mirror to the bland.

 

And yet on glowing summer days old byways fill my heart,

Despite the warnings of the jams I need to be a part,

Despite the price of petrol I’m a careless wanton fool,

And throw away the rulebook where a memory must rule.

 

But now I’m nearing seventy I’m driving very slow,

There is no need to get there and there’s nowhere real to go.

A queue of traffic builds behind when I drive down the lane,

And Reps in their Mondeo’s think I’m just a bloody pain.

 

They simply do not get it that I do not care a jot,

No doubt they think I really should be taken out and shot,

Another creaking aging fool that’s bunging up the road,

But of this fact I’m certain I’m at one with Mr Toad.

 

I’ve been looking at my licence that I’ve held for all these years,

In just five months the thing runs out, some little cause for tears,

I’ll have to get the medics just to say I’m fit to drive,

It’s only when behind the wheel I really feel alive.

 

So I’m looking in my mirrors ‘just as every driver should’,

Keep watching for the traffic police keep trying to be good,

Try not to speed, don’t drink and drive, and never overtake,

And quite ignore the sounding horns from drivers in my wake.