There’s gridlock where the traffic freely flowed
The cause: an idle hubcap by the road
A clear non-event; completely mundane
That yet still causes necks to crane
Whether prang or crash or minor collision
These ghoulish spectators earn our derision
Beguiled and entranced by an accident
To them each smash is heaven-sent
They take their own sweet time to gaze their fill
The shards of Perspex form their daily thrill
They slow to idly gawp and watch and stare
Frustrating all around them without care
A rear-ended Kia; a Mercedes now smashed;
A Volvo whose front has been horribly bashed;
A Lancer now broken in multiple pieces:
Their morbid interest, it never ceases
Of chaotic scenes they seem not to tire
They thrill with delight when a car catches fire
The daily commute thus grinds to a halt
Do they not realise that they are at fault?
Their gruesome obsession is hard to bear
Since when did courtesy become so rare?
Is there no other way to show my scorn,
Apart from the sounding of my horn?