Driving The Car. - Poem by Lizzy Tomlinson
I bought myself a little car,
After my husband died.
I should have known better,
'Cause to me, driving was denied.
I passed my test ten years ago,
The thought still makes me squirm.
But my hubbie wouldn't let me drive,
On that point, he stood firm.
I did go to my mothers once,
She was actually quite near.
And we'd just had our car re~sprayed,
When I put the lamp~post in it's rear.
So it's no wonder that my Billy,
Then hated me to drive.
He ferried us around the town,
That way we stayed alive.
But driving doesn't worry me,
I can drive along the street.
It's having to stop the bloody car,
Because then, I find my feet,
Forget what they've been doing,
When we slow down to a halt.
Then when traffic starts moving,
I've bloody gone and stalled.
It's happened to me many times,
The last time was the worst.
Seven times in all, it was.
Yes, my gear stick was in first.
I looked in my rear~view mirror
And saw the polis up my rear.
My Tammi hung her head in shame
And wished we could disappear.
But the shock got my feet moving
And the car, away it flew.
We sailed around the corner,
The polis. They came too.
We stopped. They took my details,
They had a laugh with me.
But since that night, some months ago,
I can tell you, I'll not be.
Driving in my car again.
The streets here are too busy.
Edinburgh is a nightmare,
For an amatuer like me.
So my little car, it sits outside,
My window. In the drive.
I've had it for ten months now,
But used it only five.
A hundred and one miles put on the clock,
But no more there will be.
Until I can get another house,
In my home town, Dundee.
(it's a lot quieter there) .
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