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Composed while eastbound on the M62 motorway.

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Creeping. Crawling. Blacktop drawling.

Get in lane and join the queue,

Of a Monday morning, nose-to-tail,

Gridlocked M62.

Signs flashing overhead,

Warning 40 is

All you oughta”

Do, but your needle view

Shows you’re doing barely

Less than quarter.

There’s a wagon inching past you,

It’s ladder-laden high.

You wonder if each step carried

Onboard could reach up to the sky.

And peeping through the hedges

As the slip-road slips on by,

The weathered, whiskered Colonel,

Grins out at you,

Cos that’s what he do,

That ol’ Southern,

Finger licking guy.

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