Motorway Maintenance

The traffic cones are gathering
while queues of traffic swell,
till one moans, quite pathetically,
“I don't feel very well.”

The drivers, held up waiting,
feel sorry for the fellow;
amongst the others, red and white,
this odd one's green and yellow.

Car engines idle patiently,
exhaust flows out in plumes.
“I fear,” says Green&Yellow,
“I'm allergic to these fumes.”

“You should be proud,” says one cone,
“to protect the workmen's zone;
you're postively wimpish;
you're a useless traffic cone.”

Just then a big, kind digger
comes along and gives a wave
to poor old Green&Yellow,
“Well, hello there! My name's Dave!”

“I'm glad to see you mark the spot
where I can drive straight through.
Among these common traffic cones
you're King, so good for you!”

Then, as the waiting drivers watch,
it seems one cone grew bigger:
Green&Yellow stands up tall,
all thanks to Dave the Digger.

If ever you feel out of place
or not quite 'in the zone',
remember Green&Yellow,
that important traffic cone!

poem © Celia Warren 2013

Home again! The lovely moon travelled all the way home with us - amazing how it kept up with us as we sped along the motorway ...