Tell me about your traffic jam

Tell me how your are powerless
And a prisoner
When they sold the car
On the back of an empty road
You embraced it
Yet you found when you faced it
The rush hour made a choking mess
Of it all
Those painted hills are rainbows
The pots of gold
Are the overthrows of flapping tarpaulin
Dragging from the wheels
Of a lame juggernaut

Tell me about your traffic jam

The lambs to the m6 slaughter
The cram em in
Jam em in
Racing salesman

You bought it
It’s your car, you bought it
Your fault,
You sport it
The frustrated frown
The deep burrowed,rear view mirror,
Bolt upright drowned,
Expression

You live in a goldfish bowl
In a car park the size of Europe

The neon signs slow you down
The matrix illuminated crown on the road
Reflects in puddles
And drowns in snow
And wind and rain from windshield goes
Down
The wipers go down
And you’re hypnotised
A prisoner
Mute solitary
Chewing gum
Phonin mum
Getting done
For standing still
You’re personal space
Your route 66 drive
Contrived ideas
The old dears hold you up
As a demon
And in a rage worship you
As a grandma utters the words of the deepest
Blue profanity
Eff off outta the way young man
Motor madness
Grandmas lost the plot

Tell me about your traffic jam

Tell me how insignificant
You really feel
As you orange peel
Yourself away
From the vinyl clad wheel
Boredom
As you steal a moment
And scratch your
Ass
Solitary confinement
A pickled glass sphere
A bubble of isolation
A going nowhere broken dream
Of the open road
The m6
A hot head ready to explode
At white van man
Undertakes
On his way to tarmac rakes
The boys and the black stuff
It’s their fault
They caused it
No it’s your fault
No his fault
No her fault- miss lippy
No hi fault grandpa dippy headlights
No that bugger there – weaver bird
You great big herd of muck
Gett outta the way
I’m the best drive
Don’t dare stop me in the fast lane
I’m a submarine
A million pound machine
I worked for this toy
Don’t mock me
I’m a brilliant driver
I’m the macho a1 lollypop hider
I hide my lollipops under the dash
The crash pad suits me fine
The white lines are for keeping time
I count them after nine o’clock
To stop the rot of falling asleep
God I’m bored
God hell get me out
The car is supposed to be freedom
My appointments I need them to live
I’m going be late
Oh you are white van ma? Sorry!
Its just your arse is as big as a lorry
I thought there was a weight restriction
On ten tonne trucks
A limit on dirty elbow, out the window looks
Chewing gum
Traffic jam
Tell me about lipstick
High heel man
In a lorry
Wees in a bottle and throws out the window
Theres no toilets in traffic jam
He shouts and says
In a lay-by gets prepared
For long distance kicks
His dicks ensnared in silky pants
He’s a cross dressing sycophant

Tell us about your traffic jam


Cost me a fortune this car
And you look down on me
In a mucky lorry
And worst of all – were all-stationary
I’m not equal to you!
With one hand on the wheel
And the other in a rhythm
I know how he feels
The knuckle shuffle white
The gripper, the tiller, the keel
Bang on track
Time steals when you don’t move
Jaws lock rage rules
Grind your teeth
As You halted
Why?
Any excuse they salted the arse felt
Road
Any excuse the operation
are
Overloads of concrete covered cones
choked in the middle lane
Frustration
Stationary we are

Tell me about your traffic jam