Roadworks Rage

A cunning plan’s afoot methinks

To keep us here at home

Car firmly parked in garage

With no wheel-Right to Roam.

For when we turn the engine on

To progress up our hill

We know not where to point its nose

To get that driving thrill

Of swinging down an A road

To reach our destination.

We aim for north, then switch to south

‘Midst mounting consternation.

Everywhere we think we’ll go

Is posted with diversions

That quadruple our mileages

Through undesired excursions.

With roadworks here and roadworks there

And roadworks round the bend

We feel we’re doomed, indeed marooned

Whatever we intend.

Let’s try to get to anywhere

Though closer might be best

Ignoring tempting coastal joys

Of places further west.

But, hey, what’s this?  We’re stymied

As, heading for town centre

We look to left, then look to right

Yet spot no route to enter.

Now we’ve made our way here

By – somehow – the right track

We’re really in a pickle

We can’t find our way back

Despite the fact we’re locals

Who should know how to exit.

No doubt, this mess is Highways’ fault

But blame it all on Brexit!