The Menace Of White Gloves Poem by John Sensele

From the bush hidden
Sprouted two white gloves
Cutting short your sojourn in Eden
A fine slapped your white doves

Who cruised at one hundred and forty
Kilometers per hour
On a tarmac stretch angry at a cup of tea
With the fragrance of a rose flower

White gloves dislike
If your car smells fit
White gloves strike
At your bravery declaring your car unfit

Aiming to separate bucks from your wallet
Whether your comprehensive insurance shines right
Or the fuselage of your car ducks a mechanic's mallet
White gloves with your car will contrive a ferocious fight.