Carl Stevens’ Journal: Observations On Surviving Driving In Boston
Driving ’round here can be an adventure,
You don’t know if you’ll need a priest or a wrecker.
You’ve got cars taking turns when there’s nowhere to go.
You’ve got drivers who slip and slide through the snow.
You’ve got drivers who think your patience needs testing.
You’ve got drivers whose driving interferes with their texting.
Crazy is rampant, like sand in the sahara,
they’re driving while flossing or applying mascara.
Commuters are eating while they drive with their knee,
it’s a pavement asylum where insanity runs free.
It’s “survival of the survivors” in my humble opinion,
the whole business of driving is almost Darwinian.
Cars whoosh on by, and the whole world gets blurry,
commuting can make you grow old in a hurry.
It can turn a sober man into a heavy drinker.
Is it really so tough to click on your blinker?
Common decency has gone out to pasture,
the streets are a forest of obscene gestures.
Our spirits get ruptured, ripped and forlorn,
as the guy on your bumper lays on the horn.
Each day you get churned in a vehicular blender,
as you barely avoid the next fender bender.
How, in this world, can a person stay sane?
Leave the car in the garage and hop on the train.
Listen to Carl Stevens’ poem here
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