There can be only one word for you,

the type of driver

who takes great pleasure

to be sat behind the wheel of a car,

dry, safe, singing along

to their favourite Nazi beat, all

tight on the rhythm

and with the smug sense

of critical recognition

in their eyes,

for what else

goes on in that brain,

the instrument of cruelty,

that makes you speed up

where the pool of water collects

in ocean like puddle,

tramp steamers finding the waves to rough,

and spray the dirty puddle, a tsunami,

a tidal wave of downpour

over the person

walking on the pavement.

There is but a single word for you

that I holler as you speed off

into the distance, no doubt chuckling

through Nazi lips and the beat

of regimented strings

coming from your in built

C.D. player;

I happily shout out

tosser, wanker,

and any other word that springs to mind

at that moment,

for what power trip are you on

to leave someone drown

in a pavement tidal wave.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016