On the death of a pothole...

Years ago I was working for a suburban newspaper. One of the roads near our house had this pothole that the city council never really did anything about, and one day I just got the hell in when it was still being ignored when residents reported it at least a month before. So I penned this very TIC poem, it was featured in our local paper, and believe it or not, the very next day after publication, the pothole was fixed - and I mean, REALLY fixed!!!

ON THE DEATH OF A POTHOLE - 1978

Every morning without fail I'd go and take a look
At my favourite pothole up the street and note down in a book
Its daily progress as it grew into a noble crater
Of vast dimensions wide and deep some three or four months later.
It made a grab for every car that passed along its way,
Shaking it to pieces and bidding it to stay.
It harassed every motorist who'd curse and dodge and caper
To avoid it, and it's pic was even in our newspaper.
It lay there with jaws open wide, grinning at the sky;
It seemed if there was nothing that could ever make it die....
However, time was running out; the corporation had a flap,
They sent out some THREE DOZEN men to firmly shut it's trap.
And when I went up there again to Parson's Road, my heart was sore,
For alas, alack, and all that jazz, my pothole was no more!
RIP!!!

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But on a more serious note:

CRUCIFY! - 1980

The heaving, stinking blood-crazed mob
With throats burned hoarse and dry,
Shaking fists like waving masts
And surging forward 'neath the sky,
Milling round a lonely man,
And in one enormous bestial cry
Ten thousand voices ringing out:
CRUCIFY! CRUCIFY!

And through the years that come and go
Men, though having learned to fly,
Are still as earthbound now as then
In spirit - will not spare a sigh
For those less fortunate than they
As they kick them, passing by,
While still with bestial voices cry:
CRUCIFY! CRUCIFY!