Bugger The Limit Poem by Harry St Vincent Beechey

"Bugger the limit! " The young man said as he pushed his foot down to the floor.

His Porsche was doing a hundred and ten and still, he was looking for more.

The policemen were sitting, bored, in their car, which was partly concealed by a tree.

In the lap of each cop was a bucket of chips that the sergeant had bought for their tea.

As the Porsche screamed by, the coppers awoke and turned on their siren and light

But the miscreant fled, no thought in his head, for Speed was his secret delight

They set off in noisy and flashing pursuit, and roared up the highway with haste,

Unheeded their chips all fell to the floor, a wicked and scandalous waste.

The mad love of speed is a danger indeed, and affects both the chaser and chase.

And even a copper can still come a cropper, if he doesn't pay heed to the pace.

Our impetuous hoon will meet his death soon and bring tragic grief to his mother

And the crash of his car is sadder by far, when it causes the death of another.

Pensioner Bob was out walking his dog, and stopped to give it a biscuit

The road looked quite clear for crossing with care and Bob thought he was able to risk it.

Alas and alack, he was hit in the back and died like a dog where he stood

And the cops in the car were too close by far and unable to stop when they should.

"Vehicular Murder" the coroner ruled, though whether of Bob or the Hoon,

Was never determined. Though now it is said, that the Police will be bailed quite soon.

Copyright © 2005 H.St V.Beechey