a poem by UKAONU DORIS OBIANUJU, Nigeria

Out of my way..he yells,
Clear the road..he pleads,
He races with time who seems ahead.
He is nothing but a slave to mans destination.
Thus manipulating the brakes to his taste.
Like one locked in a game of death.
Vying the road with beings of his kind,
He tosses and turns the vehicle at whim.
His avaricious passion for the note,
Makes him gamble the lives of his victims.
He drives recklessly to stupor,
And. When the going gets rough,
His spark plugs are plugged.
A flawless king of the road, he thinks himself.
Thus he gets vulgar with the offender,
Often resulting to exchange of blows.
And alas..his worst nightmare,
The men in black, arrives to intervene.
He is held captive, tangled in chains.
His only hope seems dashed,
A fine that sums up his all.
He gives a loud groan saying:
The vehicle is my all,
The road is my home.
Let me loose that I may sin no more,
Set me free that I may drive some more.

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