Those Vauxhall Drivers

Invasion of the Body Snatcher. Corruption that happily identifies itself.

Just those ones, I realise this.

Because some have no choice, and some might,

I guess, think they've chosen right

But the ones I mean, those from that evil axis...

Yes the ones from some cartoon

Sometimes acting like little kiddies

And at others sounding like old biddies

And whatever else. Dreamed up by some goon

They tick their register as I go past

They hold it up so I know I'm here

They've read my mind already, I fear

Quickly shown all looks from 'seen it' to aghast

At work a red carpet for them is rolled out

With a baby greeting, words that pierce and curl

Loudly, too. By the local Fat Bottomed Girl

Who for me, is always ready with a clout

Paradoxical. They've put themselves on a stage

A stage passed down from brat to brat

Simple tricks pulled from some obscure hat

And hidden again when they storm off in a rage

They show me smuggled strings, ready to attach

And management nods collecting in a box

They distract with timed enticement and shocks

And always declaring, daring... I'm on their patch

I can't do it, I can't put them in their place

Not with the blow and force we all need

Even the television has told us to take heed

How much irony can they put to our disgrace?

They can't stand us where we're free, for real

A pigeon hole waiting, prepared, is their joy

Dusted weapons, now aimed and set to destroy...

And our hints unforgotten, hate we cannot conceal

It turns to hate, inward. For any visible thought

And the wrong that is somehow, and felt deep

They prey on us. Low-lives we consent, obligingly cheap

Don't listen, don't see their view. Don't be caught

I escape for the day. I remember as I leave -

Without violence. I begin another mighty task

Reconciling, outwitting, preparing tomorrow's mask

Knowing the future should be what few would believe

Their parting performance gets underway

Straws clutched - faces practiced, mentally rehearsed

I see others close and leave. More lips seem pursed

And the last stares fish for those beginning to stray

The Fat Bottomed Girl yelps or cheers, baring a raw nerve

To Lout Orange 'n' Lout Purple, taxiing to the runway

Choices 1, 2, 3... lastly the High Brat in Gunmetal Grey

"Up, up and over the speed limit!..." And a driver has to swerve.