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RUSH HOUR
Rush hour, thats an incongruence in itself ,
You feel like a model car on a dusty shelf,
Forgotten by some now long grown boy
Who used to often speed his favourite toy.
A forty minute drive can take almost an hour
Yet under the hood hides a great mass of power,
The car may wonder why your foot in not down,
Whizzing at the speed limit all the way to town.
Many lanes on the highway are standing still,
Of this rush hour all of us have had our fill,
Changing lanes can drive one quite insane,
For the one you get in slows down again.
Lights change three times before you get through,
Just grin and bare it, relax, think of a joke or too,
You may laugh and grin as you wait in the throng,
Find a nice music station and join in, sing along.
Im glad Im retired and can avoid most of the time,
All the time wasted in rush hour, its such a crime,
Yet on the occasion that we have in drive in rush hour,
I count all the cars and pretend each is a pretty flower.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson October 18, 2002