on a sliding scale of one to ten
how angry does it make you then?
and if you are not prepared to say
ill ask that self same quest again
as angry as a wait on hold
till hell, if not frozen, at least grows cold
as angry as an athletes vein
as they lift the weight and take the strain
as angry as a shopping queue
that see all served apart from you
as annoyed and piqued as piqued can be
as you stand on tip toes in a bid to see
as a fuss and bother ill advised
in getting your point recognised
as irrational road rage at a junction turn
when a manoeuvre indicated becomes a burn
if you see yourself in the scenarios wrought
take solace in this comfort thought
youre not alone on this mortal coil
and there’s plenty more will make blood boil
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem