Invasion of the Potholes

[A poem by me, circa 1985, inspired by a particular street in my hometown at that time.]

My father came home,
and boy was he mad!
I walked over to him
and said, “What’s wrong Dad?”
He told me his car
had just been destroyed
because of the potholes
he couldn’t avoid.
I looked at his car
and from underneath hanged
a pipe and the muffler,
both badly banged.
He got on the phone
and called City Hall,
and told them the streets
were holes, and that’s all.
The man he talked to
promised that he
would get the streets fixed,
and to that he would see.
And so the next day
some working men came,
and they were the ones
to which my dad blamed.
The men filled the holespothole
with gravel they packed.
But after they filled them,
the holes just came back!
The men kept on packing,
and packing, and packing,
but the street kept on cracking,
and cracking, and cracking!
They used all the gravel,
until they ran out.
The holes still kept coming,
so the men tried to shout.
But before they could,
the holes, like a cup,
got bigger and bigger
and swallowed them up!
My father drove home
on what was left of our street
and said we were moving,
to a place that was neat.
And so that we did;
we drove away with laughter;
when we got to our new home
we lived happily ever after!


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