There’s an infamous bloke from Maketu,
Who occasionally drives too far?
On rare excursions from the Red Square,
In his equally infamous old car.
Once upon a hapless trip,
He displayed to me his skill,
And I very quickly realised,
“Oh Dear” I have not left a will.
Traveling atop the nature strip,
Traffic lanes flanking left and right,
White knuckle and stage fright nervous,
I pondered my sanity that night.
Would it be wise to use the bitumen?
Came my thoughtfully deft question,
And when he sped up someone’s drive,
I made a fairly rude suggestion.
“No worries” mate, he said,
Needn’t panic Bro,
Destination just around the corner,
Reverse and here we go.
Trev, I said nervously,
I’d really rather walk,
And before I bloody knew it,
He missed another fork.
This could have been America,
As we dominated the right,
I sat shaken, ashen and terrified,
Whilst other’s swerved in fright.
Then out aloud I heard the words,
“Hey Bro” we’re here!
Let’s find a parking space,
Then go in and have a beer.
But when he missed the driveway,
And without so much as a blink,
Sharp turn right across the strip,
Then turned and gave a wink.
Finally stopped and safe again,
I offered the Lord a shout,
My only trip in the old brown car,
And my prayers had all run out.