Cone Today, Gone Tomorrow Poem by Keith Oldrey

Motorway traffic, all in a stew
Endless vehicles, in a queue
Onward, ever onward, trying to press
Headaches forming, all from stress
Give an inch, steal a metre
Oh for a helicopter, a single seater! .
Yet one point never fails to amaze
As we peer through the catalytic haze.
What causes all these cars to stop?
What actually catches them on the hop?
For time will pass, and we will cheer
When cones and queue just disappear