Driving Down the Interstate

Driving Down the Interstate

 

By Elton Camp

 

From home to Birmingham,

I-65 is the best route around.

Down the ramp at Exit 310

Is where that step does begin.

 

The ramp meets road at such a sharp angle

I have to turn backward, a view to wrangle.

To merge can sure be a pain

If there are trucks in my lane.

 

Few drivers seem to feel the urge

To move over and help me merge.

But I’ve done it many times so far

Without a single dent to the car.

 

I soon accelerate up to highway speed

According to how the sign does read.

Not far to the south have I gone

And there’s a construction zone.

 

Then for some miles I have to strive

Not to exceed a speed of forty-five.

I sure don’t want any trouble.

Signs say the fine is double. 

 

Though not a single worker is in view,

The law says the limit still holds true.

Over a rise and there sits a cop,

Ready the unwary driver to stop.

 

“This is done only with safety in view.

We aren’t trying to raise any revenue.”

We all know that’s not true

But there’s not much to do.

 

Soon as I am out of his sights

Others I warn with my lights.

I find it to be quite an irk

Paying salary to that jerk.

 

“Construction End” another sign showed

Now we can make time on the open road.

A clunky car slowly passes me by

To prevent it, I never do seek to try.

 

The front of my car he barely clears,

When to the right he suddenly veers.

Safety rules he does defeat,

Being ahead only a few feet. 

 

And then, often as not, will slow

So even closer to him we will go.

Any good sense he does lack,

I slow up and try to drop back.

 

Up in the distance, I see a very steep hill.

Blocking both lanes gives truckers a thrill.

Slow vehicles must keep to the right,

Delaying all traffic seems their delight.

 

My wife says we must have a bathroom break

To pass the next rest stop would be a mistake.

So off we go to the facility’s parking lot.

Handicapped signs appear in any close slot.

 

So many marked off is a disgrace.

Never more than two in that space.

There’s no need their lack of judgment to mention.

They want to be ready for a wheelchair convention.

 

A sign on the building says, “No Smoking.”

They don’t want the public to be choking.

The tobacco addicts that sign will ignore

And gather to puff right outside the door.

 

They are a stinking, ugly sight

As they try to claim their “right.” 

They don’t give a single care

Of others’ rights to clean air.

 

Frown or cough and they’ll give a shout.

What they want is what the world’s about.

To quit smoking they don’t want to try.

“Then something else would make me die.”

 

And when I enter the bathroom door,

There’s a kid peeing mainly on the floor.

To walk there makes me feel icky.

Each step proves the floor is sticky.

 

Odor that assails peoples’ noses,

You can bet that that it ain’t roses.

Washing my hands when I’m through is mainly a joke

Wall dispensers are almost always without any soap.

 

“Pull down and tear up,” reads the paper towel machine.

Somebody already took that quite literally, it would seem.

On the wall is a hot air dryer,

But there is little use to try her.

 

The building’s lobby is clean and neat.

It’s a rather pleasant roadside retreat.

Attendant gives service in a snap

If you should ask for a state map.

 

But off to the side is a vending machine

With a crude sign that seems a bit mean.

“For loss of money we aren’t to blame,

But go ahead and put it in just the same.”

 

The sign proves not to be an idle warning.

The machine hasn’t worked since morning.

Kick the infernal device all you dare.

It has no feeling and it will not care.

 

When back on the Interstate

Traffic moves at a steady rate.

But what do I see up ahead?

All the car taillights are red.

 

Travel speed will suddenly drop

Until we come to a complete stop.

There has been a minor wreck,

Everyone wants to rubberneck.

 

It’s then pull up and slow down

Until the wreck you get around.

The road becomes reasonably clear

As to Birmingham we grow near.

 

The Interstate’s not a perfect place,

But down the state it lets me race.

To Birmingham in two hours I’ll be

When in years past it took me three.



Comments:
 
StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 8/15/2010 12:26:41 AM
Well done Elton! And your rhyming was 100% on point. To take an ordinary experience like driving down the highway and turn it into a masterpiece like this is genius.

Elton4562
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If you want to see a much more complete posting of my writes, go to www.scribd.com/Elton45623287

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My e-mail is Elton4562@Yahoo.com

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Synopsis
A humorous look at traveling I-65 South to Birmingham.
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