As if
waiting for the famer’s seeds. Traffic
signs uprooted for cloth lines,
Bridge railings for iron pots. Pitholes
called potholes.
Every commutal dodges
to cause others peril, No matter the
caution or how skillful,
Traffic agents like forest guards, Safety agency witch
haunting,
The
nightmare gangster lace the road:
Having their time, turn and locale,
All shapes and sizes on wheels patronize, Massively
crossing lanes,
Intimidating
beautiful crafts, Flinging
them like paper,
Crushing them at brake’s failure, Abyss
abound,
Shortcut
to demise. Marketers of all motives
Not intimidated by forest. Religious
routes to trodden traffic,
Gateway
to the commercial nerve. Annex
to residential shortage,
Cash cow for foresight felas. National
Dual Carnage-Way
16:27hrs
4th June, 2013
