Detailed plans
showing arteries and veins –
lifeblood
to and from the rural heartland.
Congestion zones
leading to clogged up roads –
choking fumes
causing a nasal blockage,
123,000 cones
carefully tracing
a road to nowhere.
A gallery of signs
warn of snarl-ups,
fast flashing blue lights
pursue those who spurn.
The long and winding roads
are intertwined –
strands of spaghetti
arranged with a fork.
Unsightly scars
made by an ugly hand –
on the face
of this green and pleasant land.
(A poem from the book 'Mr Blue Sky' by O. Phillips © 2009)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem