I was busting out all over
It was almost like galloping
except I was posting in the car
stalled in grid lock
while the radio hosts
bantered with phone-in opinions
on something or other urgently
requiring immediate inanity
I wanted to burst into song
like Ethel Merman
on the roof of my giddiness
If it had been raining
I’d have been Gene Kelly
stomping in puddles
even without an umbrella
But I had to sit
idling my three litre engine
as if hydrocarbons
were hymns of joy
My life was going on
in my case forever
at least that’s what
the diggity dog doctor
told me after my three month
stint in his waiting room
and now in this car
on this yellow brick road
so there, Mr. Death:
up yours!
