Car And Caravan Poem by James Hart

Car before caravan, no, car behind caravan
Twirling around like some demented fan

You woke up safely in a warm bed
Now bed on motorway floor stone dead

Started off your possessions all together
Now all lie open to the local weather

Police cars and fire engines fly around
Adding their usual unmistakeable sound

Long queues of traffic begin to form
People resigned, none sounding horn

Your days of caravanning are sure over
Try camping then on the white cliffs of Dover.