Driver Alert Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

In summer
I see hazards to avoid.
Up north come fall
I scan for sleet and ice.
By thaw and freeze
asphalt turns to dice.
We hope come May
the crews have pitch employed
to heal the pavement wounds
of winter time.
Beneath the tires on snowpack
who can guess what pit falls grow
by all the weight we press.
Though cold
the hoary landscape seems sublime.
But then each March
I find I speed along
and day dream or recall or fantasize.
Then POW,
I rage at foes whom I despise,
wax jealous,
wane in shamed at deeds gone wrong.
Repave these thoughts
before I go insane.
I have to heal
the pot holes in my brain.